


As the Witch joined the Game...

by Narcosynthesis



Series: Morrigan and Leliana [3]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F, Intrigue, Politics, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcosynthesis/pseuds/Narcosynthesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is widely believed that Morrigan's appearenace as the Empress' arcane advisor was a sudden and surprising one. But as things go in Orlais, there's always a much more complicated story behind things - one that the public shall never learn... (Sequel to 'An exception to the Rules' and 'Speak the words'; Morrigan/Leliana-femslash, but this one is not focused on that romance)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entrée

**Author's Note:**

> This is the next story of my little Morrigan/Leliana-series, making it the sequel to 'An exception to the Rules' and 'Speak the words', which you should have read to really make much sense of this one...
> 
> It's set in 9:37, months after the events of DA2, but before Inquisition and 'Asunder'/'The Masked Empire'.
> 
> A fair warning though (to prevent from potential disappointment): This one is fairly different from the other two as it is the first one that does not focus on romance. It's essentially Morrigan's solo-play, telling the story (or my take on it) of how she came to become Celene's advisor. Thus it is a story about court intrigue, schemes - and the Orlesian game and how Morrigan settles in. The Morrigan/Leliana-romance is frequently referenced, but Leliana's presence is generally reduced to thoughts and memories in Morrigan's head. Don't worry: I will naturally return to writing more romantic stories with them as well, but I decided to leave this path for now for as a change of pace.
> 
> I hope you'll give it a chance anyway :-)

**  
**

Well, not utter silence, of course. The day Val Royeaux fell into absolute silence would be the day after it had been burnt down – and there were doubts about even that.

Yet, the night over the garden of the Imperial Palace did have an aura of little known serenity and calmness. Not the faintest breeze that might have set the leaves of the trees rustling. The music that had filled the actual palace building hours ago had now long died away. Even the single bird sitting on the massive wall around the building seemed unwilling to disturb the silence with as much as a caw.

And so the full moon graciously offered a dim light to illumine the pompous palace garden where exotic flowers and plants were spending their fairly short lives in bloom before dying in a maybe a fortnight or so – for they obviously weren’t made for a climate such as this despite the nobility’s effort to make it appear so.

That statues and busts of long dead rulers were another matter. Not only would they endure, no, just in case someone might not get the message they also had their fair share of counterparts in front of the palace as well as on the inside – depicting the very same rulers if only in a slightly different pose or wearing a different mask or outfit. Because Maker forbid, that any of Empress Merise’s dresses might have been lost in the mists of history – or the fact that Kordillus Drakon II. did look just as glorious when raising his right hand as he did when raising his left.

_Yet another display of Orlesian decadence – expensive, arrogant and pointless._

It would have been considered a curious maybe even scandalous thought, had it come from the woman promenading through the garden. After all, even on a lonely stroll in the middle of the night a certain dignity and respect for her own cultural heritage was what one might expect from the Celene, Empress of Orlais, first of her name. Even thinking such inappropriate thoughts could be a dangerous game.

Luckily for Celene, these musings were not hers.

They belonged to the bird.

Or, more precisely, they belonged to the woman who currently _was_ that bird.

_This is a place designed to manifest Orlesian hubris. A place of immense wealth, foolish ignorance and delusions of grandeur._

Morrigan would have smiled if her current form had any lips.

_‘tis perfect._

And so, as the Empress of the Orlesian Empire finally reached the part of the garden lined by the statues of Celene’s oh-so-important predecessors – the part of the garden, which would take her out of the view of those guards at the balcony – the bird finally decided to leave its position.

Her descend was timed perfectly, of course, going down at a non-threatening distance, yet close enough that Celene would under no circumstances miss the moment Morrigan _shifted_.

“Well, well, ‘tis a nice night for a little stroll alone, is it not?” She was satisfied with the casualness of her voice. Less so with the effect on the woman in front of her: if the Empress was surprised – and she _had_ to be – she did not show in the least.

“Not as alone as one might think,” Celene sighed, her eyes fixed on Morrigan intently, “With all these guards around the place there hardly seems much pricacy, don’t you think?”

Morrigan smiled.

_You do feel very safe, do you not? Well, let us see what happens when I take that away._

“Oh, the ones hiding behind the statues? Do not worry, Your Radiance, they shall not disturb us for a while. Miraculously, they all fell asleep at the same moment.”

“How unfortunate.”

Morrigan had hoped for a little twitch at the corner of Celene’s mouth. Again she was disappointed. Maybe it was that fancy mask, but the Empress’ face remained utterly composed, as if a woman suddenly appearing in front of her in the middle of a night and telling her that all her protectors were currently incapacitated was no more surprising or threatening than a servant offering her wine. Maybe even less than that.

_‘They say that even the Empress herself has undergone bard training in her youth’,_ Leliana had once told her, not without a certain highly confusing sense of pride echoing in those words. Morrigan had always wondered why people would do that: almost boasting when talking about how some famous person had one tiny little detail in common with them. Did they think this somehow formed a secret bond between the person in question and themselves? Did they consider their own status elevated by approximation? It all seemed so foolish. Then again: Leliana could be quite the fool every now and then. Or at least seem like one. Even after all these years, it was hard to tell from time to time...

Morrigan brushed the thought away. Thinking about her lover was prone to distract her from the current situation. Thoughts about Leliana being a fool would lead to thoughts about Leliana being so much more – and that would irresistibly leading to thoughts about other things. A touch, a kiss, a gentle...

_Enough. Focus, you fool! Concentrate on the matter at hand._

And the matter at hand happened to be a decidedly underwhelmed Empress in front of her. “So?”, Celene inquired raising an eyebrow.

For a moment, Morrigan was lost. “So...what?”

“That is what I am asking you, mysterious stranger. After all, you were the one suggesting that my faithful, yet untimely tired guards shall not disturb us for a while. Disturb us from what, I wonder?”

_...and suddenly she is in charge of the conversation. Blasted, she is good! I underestimated her despite the warnings. Better not make that mistake twice._

“Well, most likely you would be aware that there are certain...” Morrigan began, leaving a pause for effect, “...rumors. Rumors, suggesting that you might have taken an interest in knowledge not obtained easily.”

She deliberately left out the words ‘arcane’, ‘forbidden’ and ‘dangerous’. No need to be this blunt with an Orlesian, especially not with this one. Celene would know what she was talking about.

Of course she wouldn’t admit to that openly: “Interesting. I wonder where such rumors might come from?”

She could easily have told the Empress that she had heard them on more than one occasion, all around the city. But for a moment Morrigan was tempted to speak of the other source – just out of curiosity if it would finally invoke any reaction on that stony face. ‘Because the Left Hand of the Divine happens to be my lover. And yes: I am what you most likely would call _maleficar_. How is that for a scandal?’ was bound to be something even the Empress would not hear frequently, was it not? After a moment of contemplation, Morrigan decided that the look on Celene’s face would not be worth the potential trouble.

_How unfortunate._

“’tis of no importance. What is, however, is whether there might be some truth in these rumors?”

“Of no importance? I might object. Sometimes the messenger might be just as important as the message itself.” The faintest hint of a smile showed on Celene’s facial features. Self-satisfaction? Arrogance? “A lesson you might want to learn.”

_Definitely self-satisfaction then. She thinks she has the upper hand. Good. Useful._

Morrigan intended to leave her the illusion and nodded: “Yes, Your Radiance. ‘tis true. I shall remember that.”

The Empress seemed satisfied with that and went on: “At least you have mastered a bit of etiquette. And your entrance was impressive.” Morrigan would have to take Celene’s word on that. If the Empress had been impressed, well, her composure did not give away any of it. “So, let us, for the moment, assume that these shocking rumors – while, most likely, being twisted and distorted versions of the truth – might not be completely wrong: Would that entail that you could provide such deeper knowledge?”

Morrigan suppressed a smile.

_I got her._

“Indeed ‘twould be my honor to serve in such a way, Your Radiance.”

“Let us, for the moment, assume that I might be interested in such services. Naturally, it would not be befitting to bestow any official position on someone who entered my palace uncalled and unofficial in the middle of the night – even if such a ‘visit’ was non-violent due to the conveniently absent guards. Would you not agree?”

“Yes, Your Radiance. ‘twould certainly not be...befitting.”

“Good. If, however, this little ‘visit’ never happened and if, let us say, the day after tomorrow a woman of minor rank going by the name of...?” She made a gesture with her hands towards the witch.

“Morrigan, Your Radiance.”

“An interesting name.” The Empress made a pause, which left unsaid whether the name was indeed interesting to her for any specific reason...or just in terms of the mere sound of it. “I think ‘Lady Rione d’Alyons’ would make a better fit, would you not?”

“You expect me to change my name?”

“For the time being. Neither you nor I would benefit from giving your real name until I have decided to _actually_ make you part of the court.”

The message was clear.

_She has not decided yet. Better not test her patience. At least not for now..._

“I see,” Morrigan replied, not happy at all. “But why d’Alyons?”

“A minor Marquisate in the far west. Real enough to not raise any suspicions, unimportant enough to not justify the need for any further inquiries.”

_In case my background story should have any inconsistencies. I see. She certainly is a smart one._

“Now, “ Celene continued, “Let us assume that Lady Rione d’Alyons would indeed appear in front of the palace the day after tomorrow and request an audience: It would only be suitable to grant her hospitality for a few days, given her long journey in these dangerous times. During these days, she and I might get the chances for a few conversations and get to know each other better than during a midnight walk in the garden. Should I be content with what I learn about her by then, there might be a good chance that – in a few weeks’ time – I might present a new arcane advisor, Lady Morrigan, to the court. Now, does that sound agreeable?”

Even through the eyes of the mask, Celene’s eyes looked questioning – a tiny bit. It was a rhetorical question, of course. It would have to happen like this...or not at all.  Morrigan had expected more, but in retrospect she could not justify why.

_What did you expect? That she’d just take you in because of that little trick with the shape-shifting? She didn’t get that throne for being gullible._

“’tis agreeable, Your Radiance.” Despite all the training beforehand, the title still did not roll over her tongue smoothly – but she hoped it would be enough that it was there at the end of every other sentence. That was how nobility worked in Orlais, right?

“Splendid. Now let us end this conversation, which never happened, shall we?”

“That would be wise, Your Radiance.”

Just as Morrigan was about to turn around, Celene’s voice spoke up once more. “Lady Morrigan? I certainly expect that Lady Rione d’Alyons will _also_ be suitably dressed when appearing.”

Morrigan suppressed a grunt, certain that it wouldn’t be the last one in the upcoming days. “Yes, Your Radiance,” she replied, “She most certainly will be.”

She _shifted_ again well before a sigh escaped her lips. ‘Suitably dressed’ – that, too, was how nobility worked in Orlais. And as the night became calm and quite again, a single bird took to the sky above the Imperial Palace, flying away from a conversation that never happened.

 

* * *

 

 

The door did, as always, open without any sound, yet Celene noticed it noneteless. As always. She did not bother to look up from the desk in her personal chamber when the full-length mirror, which conveniently covered the hidden door, moved aside.

“It took you a while,” she muttered while concentrating on making the quill pour the words on the paper in her delicate handwriting.

“I am sorry for that, but it was that young servant again. We just keep running into each other ‘accidently’.”

Celene smiled and put the quill away as she looked up to the woman approaching her: “He must be quite inventive to arrange _that_.”

In truth, there was no way that the young man would be able to ‘accidentally run’ into Briala if she didn’t allow him to, no matter how inventive he might be. The reason Briala let him was simply because it might have been more suspicious if she actively avoided him.

“Should I be worried now? Jealous?” The Empress’ voice was warm and gentle – and only Briala would have spotted the suppressed chuckle in that statement. It almost turned into a giggle when Briala planted a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Only if you wish so, Your Radiance.”

They had talked about this before. It might be necessary for her beloved Bria to have a little crush on someone again. After all, the last time the Empress’ handmaid had officially been seen with someone was suspiciously long ago. Some might already start to wonder what the pretty, young elf girl was waiting for so long. The young man might be able to put an end to any suspicions. Even if it would – of course – in the end turn out to be an unfulfilled love affair. Probably because one day the handsome servant would simply vanish, being called home to attend to his sick mother or being discreetly let go for some mistake he had made the day before. Something like that. Poor Briala would of course be left behind heartbroken, unable to ‘ever love again’. And the other servants would turn their attention towards some new, more fruitful gossip. There was always gossip in the Imperial Palace.

_And she will be mine forever._

It was a comforting thought in these troubled times. Bria was always there – and that was all that Celene needed. All it took to make her move on. She inhaled the sweet familiar scent of her beloved as Briala bowed over her shoulder to take a curious look at the parchment paper.

“Filling out the list for the next weeks, I see.” Bria noted. Naturally, palace business let little room for surprised. Most audiences were requested long before by letter. Celene would make a list of those that would be welcome in the upcoming days and weeks – and who would receive a polite letter, putting them off for another month...or year. “I imagine Lady Rione is already on it?”

Celene nodded. Of course she was. Neither at the beginning, nor at the end of the list – or in any other position where it would stand out. Just some insignificant name right between other insignificant names.

“You saw her little entrance there.” It was not a question, naturally. She knew that Briala had been watching from somewhere, knew that the woman named Morrigan would have been in for a little surprise if she had tried something inappropriate. Well, something _more_ inappropriate than approaching the Empress of Orlais alone in the dark in the middle of the night, anyway. “What do you think? Did she speak true about the guards?”

“Yes, she did. All sound asleep. Otherwise unharmed, though.” Briala turned around and took a nip from the glass of wine on the desk that stood right next to Celene’s. Already filled, of course. “As far as her performance goes: It was...interesting. Shape-shifting is not exactly something that could be considered _ordinaire_. Not even something I’d expect Madame de Fer being capable of – otherwise she’s have bragged about it already.”

Again Celene nodded in agreement. “Indeed. So: Definitely not Circle, this one?”

“Most definitely,” Briala confirmed, frowning as if some thought had entered her mind. “The name is interesting. Morrigan.”

“It does sound somehow familiar.”

“Yes, it does. It appears in some of the stories being told about the Fifth Blight. At least some sources mention a woman named Morrigan – or something alike – among Lady Cousland’s followers. Information beyond that is rare, though. Depending on the rumor she was either a powerful Tevinter magister, a witch, a Fereldan bloodmage or an apostate escaped from the Circle in the turmoil of Enchanter Uldred’s bloody rebellion.”

“Witch seems most likely then, no?”

A frown appeared on Bria’s otherwise smooth forehead. “We should not rule out any of the other, to be on the safe side. And it’s not really sure if she really is _this_ Morrigan. But I agree: It would fit.”

“It would indeed make her useful,” Celene said.

“If she is the type that _can_ be used,” Briala replied doubtfully.

A laugh escaped Celene – what an increasingly rare sound that had become in the past months. “Yes, indeed. She does not strike me as the kind who would allow that with ease. Yet it is always possible to buy loyalty when offering benefits in return.”

She looked up to Briala again and smiled. “You should be glad, no? Your plan worked as efficient as predicted – even more so. We expected the rumors to get me one. Now I got two to choose from.”

“Neither of whom you can actually trust, Celene.”

The Empress sighed at the barely hidden concern in her voice. _This? Again?_

Laying the quill aside for good, Celene rose from her chair and turned towards her Beloved. _Why would I need to look for someone to trust? I have you._

Tenderly, she cupped Briala’s face with her hands, the smooth sensation of the familiar warm skin slowly making her own blood boil. “We have been over this, Bria, no?” she purred, planting a kiss own her lips. “I may need an edge if I want to be ready for the things to come. Gaspard will not be idle for long – and ever since Kirkwall, we both know how important it will become to have a powerful mage ally in the sleeve.”

She could feel Briala’s pulse racing, yet her voice remained steady. “And you are sure Madame de Fer will not suffice in that regard?”

“Lady Vivienne’s resources, considerable as they may be, do have limits when it comes to less...usual kinds of magic. Besides that, she has become fairly comfortable in her position. It might do her some good to learn that the court won’t rely on her alone. That she is not indispensable.”

Bria’s resistance was fading, of course. They had been over this, after all. And there were so much more...enjoyable things to do in the precious little private time they had. “So, now you have two. Any idea, who you will choose yet?” was all she managed between kisses.

“Why, I choose you, Bria,” Celene smiled – and she knew the look in her eyes would confirm that. “All else...we shall see about that.”

As she gently pushed her beloved into bed, all other thoughts faded. The witch, the other one – that was a decision for another time.

_We shall see what the next days will bring._


	2. En garde

****

The lines of statues in the garden seemed even more endless during the day.

_‘tis as if they changed them each day. Or so ‘twould seem._

Morrigan sighed. Well: _Lady Rione_ sighed. Morrigan actually felt like grunting or running away screaming. And it was all _his_ fault. The Witch of the Wild would’ve made the servant next to her stop with a glare – the Lady Rione, however, had accepted her fate and let his endless torrent of words about what seemed to be every single one of the statues just wash over her. She had no idea if her introduction had been the reason for him feeling this chatty. Maybe it was indeed the fact that Lady Rione was from a minor lordship in the far west. Maybe that justified the lecture on imperial culture. Or maybe she just had the bad luck to get a servant assigned to herself that just gave that tour to everyone.

_Or maybe ‘tis a test of patience._

On the odd chance that it might be the latter one, Morrigan had decided to stay calm and let it go. No need to attract any attention by making a scene at her first appearance already.

_Yet it sure is tiresome._

It had started with the portraits in the Grand Hallway and continued when leaving the main building and entering the gigantic garden that Morrigan was already familiar with (Lady Rione, of course, was not – officially). And so she had been presented not only an endless gallery of art and artefacts – not the actually interesting ones, of course, but Orlesian kitsch instead – and the ‘little chapel’ in the garden (she was sure there were towns in Ferelden with smaller chantries than this massive ‘little’ building). And of course the exotic flowers as well.

_And now I get to learn each Emperor’s favorite colors, dishes and probably which side of the bed they slept on. Lovely._

“Now, there is an interesting story told about His Radiance, Emperor Freyan…”

_Oh, I am sure about that. If ‘interesting’ is the Orlesian word for ‘trivial’, ‘mundane’ and ‘irrelevant’…_

Morrigan, for fear of dozing off due to this nonsense, decided to use the time to muster her escort more intend instead. The servant assigned to her after being formally received in the palace had introduced himself as Etienne (she already dreaded the moment they would reach the statue of his namesake…), a small, nearly bald man who moved, quite surprisingly, with the grace of a cat. His manners were flawless naturally and despite the monotone sound of his voice and his fairly unique interpretation of the word ‘interesting’, he had acted very friendly. Not just polite, but friendly.

_‘Never trust the friendly ones.’_

Leliana’s words, once uttered in one of those particularly chatty moods, in which she – for reasons that were beyond Morrigan and despite any encouragement whatsoever – seemed to feel the urge to teach Morrigan about Orlesian society.

 _‘Why? Because they lie?’_ Morrigan had asked, making an effort to hide her contempt for the mere triviality of these ‘wise’ words.

 _‘No, it is Orlais. Everyone lies, yes? But everyone who feels comfortable enough to_ also _keep up their appearance usually has one or two contingency lies in store as well. They can lie about how much they lie when telling you lies – and still lie to you while you try to wrap your head around that.’_

 _‘So what is the conclusion then? Shall I trust the grumpy ones?’_ Morrigan had asked.

 _‘Well, that certainly worked out for me, no?’_ Leliana had answered with a cheeky smile – and pressed a kiss on the witch’s lips. And that had been the end of that discussion.

Morrigan had to admit that Leliana might be right, but still she considered the advice redundant. One of the basic principles of her own upbringing had been to simply never trust _anyone_. Which naturally included friendly people.

Just like Etienne.

She tried, for good measure, to at least get a few of the ‘interesting facts’ he was reciting while allowing her mind to wander off again, once more asking herself what she was actually doing here. The answer was plain and simple, though, especially since she had just crossed it a few moments ago.

_‘tis for you. I am doing this for you, Leli._

Almost instantly, she felt the desire to slap herself. Hard. Mainly for even _thinking_ about calling her beloved by the nickname of ‘Leli’. She had been careless enough to speak that name out aloud once – with the foreseeable catastrophic consequences: Of course, it had immediately led to Leliana cooing how ‘cuuuute’ and ‘adorable’ that was. Which, in turn, had led to her suggesting nicknames for Morrigan.

She sighed. The ensuing fight would easily rank among the most ridiculous and pointless ones of their relationship – which was not a statement made lightly. After all, during the past five years there had been enough room for countless arguments and petty quarrels.

_Not so much since Kirkwall, though._

And there it was again. That dark and gloomy place she didn’t dare to go too often. Her memories of that night were all too vivid. The night she had thought to have lost it all.

_The night I thought I had lost her._

The ruins of the chantry.

The rage.

That moment she almost killed the pirate woman.

 _And then there she was. Risen from what most certainly_ had _to be her tomb._

It had been the day after that when she had sworn to herself that she would go with her. Stay closer to her. Somewhere in Val Royeaux.

‘ _Some noble looking for a mage to protect him- or herself against competitors in the Game perhaps?’_ That had been her exact thoughts back then. Of course, back then she had had no idea that opportunity might arise to consider the Imperial Court itself. That had been Leliana’s doing – yet another result of her gossiping moods (sometimes it was hard to believe how someone with such urges of blabbering all night long could succeed in this specific line of work of hers…), in which she had told her about the scandalous rumors of the Empress developing a strange interest in the darker arts of magic. For Leliana this had been nothing but curious gossip – she probably heard things like that more or less daily – and to Morrigan it had meant little more at the beginning.

But the more she dug into it, listened to the word on the streets and in the taverns, the more it seemed to hold some truth. And so the witch had decided to put the rumor to a test. Without Leliana knowing, of course. Most likely, she would have tried to talk her out of it – or even worse: offered to _help_ her. The mere thought made her shudder. No, better keep her oblivious of this until it was too late for her to interfere one way or another. As far as Leliana was concerned, she had gone into hiding again – only to resurface at the appointed place and time. A place and time only the two of them knew about.

The prospect of Leliana’s face at that moment, when Morrigan intended to introduce herself as the arcane advisor of the Empress made her smile.

_‘I know you, Morrigan...’_

On more than one occasion, Leliana had taken the opportunity to point that out. And indeed Morrigan could not deny that her love had become much better at reading her than the wide-eyed naive chantry sister she had known during the Blight could have ever dreamed of. It went both ways, of course. And Morrigan presumed that it was only a natural step in a relationship. Still: A part of her abhorred the mere idea of becoming too predictable. That part took a mischievous pleasure at the thought of rubbing it into her face that the Witch of the Wild was _always_ good for some unforeseen twists even the Left Hand of the Divine would not see coming.

 _I will mention it as a mere side note, I think. As if it had been the simplest deed in the world._ That _should be amusing._

The thought lightened up her mood substantially and made it much easier to get through Etienne’s little lecture, which finally found it’s end after they passed the last of the statues and headed straight for the small building (which was ‘small’ only when compared to the palace itself, of course) holding the guestrooms. She had been informed right at the beginning of their little quest through the garden that she would be lodged there for the time being. The four-storey building looked neat from the outside, though it could just as easily have been the servant’s quarters. On the inside, however, there was little doubt that this was indeed a place for honored guests: the interior of the main hall made it seem like a smaller version of the palace. A good deal more humble, yes (after all, the guests should not forget who ranked higher here), but gaudy enough to make most other buildings in Val Royeaux look like a second class tavern.

As they made their way up the marble stairs Morrigan tried to take it all in, but failed due to the ostentatious interior overwhelming the first-time visitor with paintings, tableaus, vases, busts (of course), drapes, tapestries and richly decorated furnishings. There was a distinct calmness to all of this, Morrigan noted. Not that the garden had actually been filled with noises, yet the many servants and maids – most of them elves, naturally – gracefully but purposefully moving from one place to another had created something of a bustle nonetheless. This place, however, was quite.

...which made it even more startling when they almost rushed into someone as they passed the corner towards Morrigan’s room. It took her a moment to recognize the young man to be the servant who had been charged with carrying the chest with Morrigan’s belongings – well, the belongings she actually decided to bring here; the rest was still safely stored away in a small inn just outside Val Royeaux. The dark-haired fellow gave a grunt and muttered some hushed words of apology, not even making the effort to make them sound too sincere, before he all but rushed away to his next charge.

_Well, well...an unfriendly Orlesian. That is new._

She noted how that very fact would undoubtedly make him rank higher in the official ‘Sister Nightingale Scale of Trustworthiness’ than Etienne, but again chose to ignore that and decided to distrust him anyway.

_Maybe I should pay real close attention to the contents of the chest._

Not that she expected a servant of the Imperial Palace to steal from a guest in such a plump manner. Yet, maybe the man could not have resisted the urge to take a peek into her belongings? Or had their arrival disturbed them in another way? He had seemed in a hurry, for sure. But that could literally mean anything, so she decided to let it go for the moment.

Etienne, however, did not: “I do most humbly apologize for this unfortunate nuisance, Madame. I shall have to see to Pierre receiving a little lesson in terms of manners.”

Morrigan wanted give a sharp reply, but decided to let Lady Rione do the talking instead: “Indeed. Do see to it, Etienne.”

The servant made an odd gesture that seemed like a strange combination of nodding and a curtsy, then he opened the door in front of them. It took Morrigan an effort to prevent her jaw from dropping as she stared into what would be her guestroom.

Barely hiding a certain pride, Etienne’s voice reached her ears: “Madame Rione, I am confident that you shall find your lodging adequate. Should there be any reason for an objection, however, do let me know. Otherwise, I am instructed to leave you here. You may wish to take the chance to refresh before the audience.” Morrigan looked at him, puzzled, but hopefully not showing that. “I will come back when the time is near. Once again, Her Radiance Empress Celene of Orlais extends her warmest welcome to the Imperial Palace. May your stay here be an enjoyable one.”

 _Yes indeed_ , Morrigan thought as the doors closed behind her. _May it be just that._

 

* * *

 

 

As she entered her new room, Morrigan realized two things: First, she had underestimated the decadence of the Orlesian nobility once more. This room had nothing common with what her understanding of guestrooms entailed. Granted: She and Leliana had only dared to take a room together twice on Orlesian soil in all the years they had been together – and in both cases those had been remote inns in small villages. They had not dared to risk any more than that. Mostly they had stayed away from towns at all – or dressed up in such an unsuspicious manner that no one would look twice at any of them.

So, yes: Her understanding of Orlesian hospitality among ‘people of note’ had been guesses and estimates built upon the colourful stories Leliana told her. Yet, even her wildest imaginations could not live up to this.

The bed itself was colossal. Morrigan thought it could occupy almost half the size of the entire hut she had grown up in. And it was covered in so many pillows and blankets that she feared she might get hopelessly lost in there if she didn’t draw a map first...

Of course, the interior matched the opulence she had witnessed in the hall. The furniture was richly ornamented, the elegant crimson curtains could – if one wished – close up the full length of the elaborately crested windows, and the tall full-length mirror displayed her own image in all her beauty. Which – of course – was considerable, she noted with some satisfaction. The richly embroidered black dress with purple elements gave her an aura of grandeur that the Witch of the Wild would usually wrinkle her nose at – if seen on another person, that was.

_Careful. Don’t let yourself get lulled in by this superficial nonsense._

Yet it was hard to not, for the first time, consider that besides it all being part of the plan, there would be certain...benefitsin becoming an advisor to the Empress of Orlais. There even was a second room attached – a room for the sole purpose of bathing. A bathtub in the middle of that room was already filled with apparently hot water. So that was what Etienne had meant when talking about the ‘chance to refresh’? Apparently. And while Morrigan did not feel particularly dirty – she would hardly have shown up here in such a state – she felt tempted to take that offer.

_‘tis only polite, is it not?_

That’s also when she realized the second thing: She was not alone. The small, beautiful elven woman stood there right next to the bathtub, her head lowered just like most of the servants she had noticed around the palace.

“Welcome, Your Ladyship”, she almost whispered, not raising her eyes while speaking, “Your bath is ready, if you please.”

“And who might you be, girl?” Morrigan inquired.

“Ryellara, Your Ladyship. At your service, Your Ladyship.”

“You should answer to my face, not my feet, Ryellara.”

For the first time, the elf raised her head a little, staring at Morrigan in amazement. “Yes, Your Ladyship,” she replied, obviously not comfortable at looking the supposed highborn lady straight in the eyes.

_What is wrong with these nobles? Are they afraid to face their own subjects?_

“Anyway, I will indeed take a bath now,” Morrigan said.

“As you wish, Your Ladyship,” Ryeallara replied, making a move towards Morrigan. It took the witch a moment to realize what was going on.

“Oh...there is no need for that, Ryeallara. I can get out of this dress myself.” A statement that left the servant utterly bewildered. For a few moments nothing at all happened. And then Morrigan realized that nothing _would_ happen if she didn’t say the word. “What I mean is: I would like to take that bath – in private.”

Ryeallara blinked. “You...you are sure? You do not require my service?”

“No, I am sure I can manage on my own.”

“Are you sure that I might not be of _any_ assistance? I am your humble servant, Your Ladyship. For all needs.”

“No, I am perfectly fine. You may leave. I am sure you do have other chores to attend to.”

Blinking. Again.

For a moment, Ryeallara looked as if she wanted to object, but then realized how insane that would be. So she hurried out of the room, barely able to walk straight from bewilderment.

She wasn’t the only one.

_This will take some getting used to._

* * *

 

 

The thought would not really leave her for the rest of the day. It would take getting used to _a lot of things_ , Morrigan realized. How, for example, was the almost shocked impression on Etienne’s face after his return to be interpreted?

“Are you ready for the audience, Madame?” he had asked. And the look on his face could hardly betray that this was not just a matter of saying. He seemed actually concerned if the Lady was ready to go.

 _Have I done something wrong? Just how long_ should _I have bathed to be ‘refreshed’ enough?_

Of course, he had not dared to object when Morrigan had claimed that she was, in fact, ready. Yet, the witch kept wondering if she had overlooked some detail as they once more made their way through the gardens and to the palace.

That was another thing to get used to, of course: The constant feeling of observation. Naturally, all the servants kept their heads lowered whenever she looked around, doing their best to seemingly ignore everything that was not the chore they were currently carrying out. And yet – lady from Alyons or not – she had not the faintest doubt that she was watched with the utmost curiosity. There would be eyes and ears everywhere here. And many more of them than just the guards who at least openly looked at her. More than once she realized that she had to keep up her own guard when it came to the seemingly harmless conversation Etienne seemed to make. None of his questions seemed out of place, of course. He asked her about the current state of affairs in Alyons, the weather at her alleged home or whether she was content with the lodgings at the guest quarter. And still: There was always a bit more behind it, an underlying question she would answer as well even without noticing – revealing, if she wasn’t careful, far more than she was willing to. If she had heard the troubling news of the mages’ reactions to that unfortunate incident at Kirkwall, for example. She had to focus to produce as neutral a response as possible...

 _And yet,‘tis hardly more than a prelude for the things to come._ There was little doubt about that when she finally entered the throne room for an audience with the Empress herself. Two elven maids were scurrying around Celene and the little table next to the Empress’ seat of power, probably ensuring that Her Radiance would not run out of tea, little biscuits or whatever the woman in the richly embroidered violet dress was having. Morrigan was sure that this dress alone was probably more expensive than the whole wardrobe of both, the King and Queen of Ferelden, taken together – although, to be frank, Morrigan still had a hard time picturing Alistair wearing any clothing, which would even remotely befit a king...let alone a crown.

“Ah, the Lady Rione,” Celene’s calm voice cut her off from a distracting, yet amusing little mental picture of ‘King’ Alistair trying to govern anything beyond his pants and boots, "I trust the accommodations of the Imperial Palace are to your liking?”

“They are...adequate, Your Radiance,” Morrigan replied, waiting for the two servants to leave the room before adding “And ‘tis Morrigan.”

She had decided that, while she would play along and keep up this charade in front of anyone else, she would not want the Empress to think for even an instance that she could force that name upon her permanently. There had to be some boundaries to this.

 _Remember: This woman wants something from_ you _, no matter how much she might pretend it to be the other way around. ‘tis vital to establish some ground rules when alone with her._

“Oh yes, I do remember you mentioned that name...before.” Celene replied. “I do think that ‘Lady Rione’ shall suffice for the moment, though. Do you not?”

It was not a question, of course. Those eyes left little room for speculation there.

_So much for establishing ground rules..._

Morrigan did not respond. She might have to swallow this for the time being – they both knew that – but there was no need to give that woman the satisfaction of saying it out aloud. 

A moment of silence fell before the Empress continued: “You do take some pride in your name it would seem. I find that curious, considering how it is not actually the name of any noble I would recall. Not even from Ferelden.”

“Well, ’tis my name, Celene.”

It was a dangerous game to throw in the Empress’ first name, but Morrigan had decided that she could afford a few little cuts like that – the reactions of the Empress might reveal enough to justify the possible scars that a remark like that might inflict on her reputation.

Also, it was amusing.

_And what possible damage might result from this anyway? She can’t already send me away for that – not while she wants my knowledge._

The Empress’ reaction was...disappointing. The sound of her name produced a tiny little frown on Celene’s forehead (the mask she wore today daringly only covered a small region around her eyes), but that was the end of that. If the impertinence of a commoner calling her by her surname had in any way hurt or provoked her, there was no way to tell that. With a voice just as calm and curious as before, she continued as if nothing had happened: “So, it is a question of identity, yes? It carries meaning – even if not connected to a family name of nobility and influence?”

 _It is the name_ she _has given me._

The thought stung because she had never even considered this. Should she have changed the name after she had learnt the _Truth_? Shaken away even the last remnant of the identity that wretched old woman had intended for her? Why indeed did she cling to that?

_Careful. She’s got you off-balance here. And probably not by accident..._

“No,” Morrigan replied, rather self-satisfied with the tone of her voice which did not reveal how those words had driven her into a direction she did not want to go now, “Not noble at all. Just the name of a simple woman out of the wilderness.”

“Oh, do not be too hard on Ferelden. It does have some nice places. Or so I hear.”

For a moment Morrigan just stared at the woman blankly. Was this one of those instances of Orlesian supremacy? An insult against her home country?

 _And does she seriously think_ that _I would care in the least? Orlesians!_

“When I said ‘wilderness’ I was indeed referring to the actual...” Morrigan paused in mid-sentence, suddenly noticing something...unexpected. It might have been only a twitch, but... “’twas a jest? You were _joking_?”

 “And if I was?”

“Well, ‘tis hard to imagine that the Empress of Orlais might be capable of such a feat.”

Celene’s lips formed the faintest hint of a smile. Or maybe Morrigan was just imagining things.

_Orlesians!_

“My dear Lady Rione: Not having the luxury to do a thing does not mean being unable to do it.” The smile disappeared again, replaced by the same aura of calm composure. “Now, where were we? Ah, indeed you were just talking about how you came from the wilderness...the ‘actual _’_ wilderness. I take it that was where the Circle of Ferelden found you?”

_Ah, there ‘tis. We both knew this was coming._

Morrigan had considered her options when this question would arise the very moment Etienne had casually brought up the subject of the Kirkwall incident. Of course Celene would need to _know_.

“I am – and always was – unbound.”  

Celene raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Unbound? You mean...?”

“Yes, ‘tis exactly what I mean.”

_I am an apostate – and you already knew that, did you not?_

It was a ridiculous charade, come to think of it. Celene must have suspected the very moment Morrigan had appeared in front of her two nights ago. And anything she had said and done after would only have confirmed that. Morrigan had not tried to hide it. And why would she?

 _You need me. I am_ exactly _what you are looking for._

“I see,” the Empress simply replied. “This is rather...unconventional.”

“I was under the impression that unconventional was what you desired?”

“What I desire, Lady Rione, is knowledge _and_ discretion.”

“And who shall better fit this requirements than someone who is not bound to any Circle and its...limitations?”

Silence. Celene took a sip out of her cup and then looked into the distance. It was yet another performance, of course. The Empress seemed to consider this reluctantly – when both of them knew full well, that nothing of this would be news of her. Either that or Celene was much, much more foolish than Morrigan expected her to be. Either way: It left Morrigan in the advantage – even if the Empress was formidable at not letting it show.

“So, I take it that you do not think highly of the Circles? You seem sure that you can offer me more than any Circle mage could?”

Morrigan snorted derisively – yes, she actually dared. The Empress’ performance might be enough to break any commoner’s confidence by looks and words alone – but at the end of the day, they both knew how this would end.

“Indeed ‘tis so. The Circle mages are mere captives of Chantry laws and their own fear. They dare not go into that which is unknown. I do. On my travels, I have gathered more ancient knowledge than any Circle mage could ever have read about. While none of them ever leave their safe little towers, I shall go wherever I please, seeking that which was lost.”

She made a pause for effect, satisfied to note that Celene remained silent. The words obviously had their intended effect. Morrigan allowed herself a victorious smile: “Which is why I am perfect. I can go wherever you need me, I _will_ go where no Circle mage would dare – and I can do all that without being seen. You need me.”

“Is that so?” For the first time, the Empress did sound somewhat annoyed. Or not? It was hard to tell. Had she pushed this too far?

_No. She knows I am right. She might not like it, but I am exactly what she wants._

“I do see little alternative. Unless you decide to send me and all this potential I bring with me away, that is.”

Celene smiled, though Morrigan could hardly make out if it was a sympathetic smile or just a helpless one some fools would wear when they know they were beaten and tried to convince themselves that acknowledging it with a smile would save them some dignity.

_So, is this over now? I am growing tired of it._

“Well, then do follow me to the library, Lady Rione,” the Empress simply said and rose from her throne.

Morrigan was puzzled. The library? Where did that come from? Was this change of location meant to signal a change of tone? Was this supposed to be more private? She dismissed the thought when they were met by the two servants the very moment they left the room and wandered down the corridors.

“Tell me, Lady Rione: What would you require for the service we discussed?”

Again, Morrigan was taken by surprise.

 _She wants to discuss payment? Right now in passing?_  

It seemed oddly untypical and possibly even rude to discuss this in front of the servants as well – like something _Morrigan_ might do. But the Empress of Orlais? This was hardly the way...

_Of course ‘tis not. She is trying to catch you off-guard. Clever._

Fortunately, Morrigan had given this some thought beforehand as well. It had become quite clear once she had contemplated it: Of course, there was the option to pretend that she was in this for money, but she knew only too well that this was hardly something anyone who would have met her for more than one second might believe. The truth was out of the question, either – as amusing as the Empress’ reaction towards ‘Oh, I just want a place from where I can watch over my Chantry girlfriend’ might have been. So what else could someone like her possibly want to get out of this?

“Safety. Protection. Privacy. An own laboratory, naturally. And a warm meal every now and then would be desirable.”

Celene looked at her and Morrigan noticed how she almost had missed a step there.

_Not what you expected, ‘Your Radiance’? But it has all that you would expect from an apostate, has it not? A good life outside the Chantry’s reach – and of course every good witch would need her own laboratory where she can do wicked and foul witch-deeds, would she not?_

Money was a mere afterthought and Morrigan intended to let it appear as exactly that.

 “As for _anything else_ ,” she continued nonchalantly, “I shall trust your wise judgement, Your Radiance.”

_Which means, that ‘tis your play now._

Morrigan suppressed a grin, fairly happy how elegant this was working out. She had not lowered herself to discuss actual sums in front of strangers while still suggesting that both, the Empress and Morrigan herself, knew exactly how much her services were worth.

Of course they didn’t. But Celene would now not allow herself the weakness to admit that and would come up with a ludicrously high offer just to be on the safe side.

The smile became increasingly harder to suppress. This was almost too easy! Leliana would always make a big deal of how complicated and dangerous life among the nobility was. Oh, the Game! Oh, the ambiguities in every words! Oh, the delicate way to talk without revealing too much!

Well, she had not revealed anything she hadn’t planned – and after one day at court, she already had the Empress of Orlais in her pocket. And to think that the Orlesians made such a big deal out of this. Whether in the Palace or on the street: It was always just about manipulating people the right way. Nothing Morrigan hadn’t encountered before.

They remained silent for the rest of their little walk, Morrigan fully aware that the blonde-haired woman was most likely inspecting her without giving the impression to actually even be looking at Morrigan.

As they entered the library, an impressive hall, which seemed to stretch over at least three storeys, Morrigan immediately became aware of yet another presence: a tall, dark-haired woman in a sinfully expensive red dress that all but radiated an aura of importance – or at least: the will to appear important. The porcelain skin seemed to suggest that this woman was not entirely unaware of how to use of the latest Orlesian _maquillage_...lots of that. The hair worn in delicate curls, her mask a subtle and elegant one, she was obviously out to impress – and barely managed to not overstate her case by outshining the Empress herself. Another noble then? But what was the meaning of this? Why was she here? A curious sense of wrongness crept up on Morrigan, that unnerving feeling she got whenever she felt she might miss something. Oh, how she hated missing something!

The sceptical look with which the unknown woman had first mustered Morrigan disappeared once her eyes fell on Celene. What followed was most likely to rank among the most perfect curtsies in the history of curtsies.

Morrigan at once decided that she hated the woman.

“Oh, Your Radiance! What a pleasure to meet you again. And might I add that you look divine today!”

Oh yes, she hated her.

“Ah, the Lady Alexiane. The woman we were looking for.” Celene stated with a strange smile. Not _actually_ happy to see her, but more...interested? Amused? Morrigan could not really interpret it.

“Lady Alexiane, I would like to introduce you to Lady Rione d’Alyons.” She turned her head to Morrigan, her posture still perfect and unaffected, but in her eyes...was there something flickering? Curiosity perhaps? “And Lady Rione, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Lady Alexiane...of the White Spire.”

For the fracture of a second, Morrigan lost control as her head reflexively spun to the left to face the woman and her triumphant grin – which was not even directed at her. Alexiane’s eyes never left Celene, never even deigning to look at Morrigan. All she could do to prevent any further damage to her dignity was to keep her facial features as much under control as possible, speechless.

 _A Circle_ _mage? Here?_

Why would Celene want her to meet one of them here? It made no sense.

_Unless..._

At the corner of her eyes she could see the Empress make some gesture as she continued in that conversational tone: “It seems that we have a curious situation here, _Mesdames_. Quite obviously you both have heard the same rumors...and an interest to offer me your service.”

Now, _that_ at least had an effect on Alexiane: The Empress’ statement had wiped the smug smile from her face in an instance. And finally she seemed to acknowledge Morrigan’s existence. As their eyes met, Morrigan could make out the incredulous look on her. It would have been satisfying to see how that arrogance had been turned into shock – if Morrigan wasn’t so aware of the irony: Just a few minutes ago she probably had worn that same self-satisfied triumph on her face.

_At least that means she must have had no idea either._

The thought made her turn back to Celene, who was casually taking the glass of wine offered by her servant. This time, Morrigan was sure: there was an actual smile on her face.

_She is enjoying this. She waited for this very moment._

Unfortunately, the Empress was not done yet: “Ah, but Lady Alexiane! Lady Rione and I had the most fascinating conversation on our way here. Indeed, she had just made a point of how it would be much wiser of me to choose an outsider instead of a Circle mage for this specific work. What were your words again, Lady Rione?” Celene looked at her, playfully ‘trying’ to remember the words that, of course, already lay on her lips: “Ah, that is right: ‘mere captives of Chantry laws and their own fear’ was how you named them, no?”

Without waiting for a reply, Celene addressed Alexiane again, fixating her: “What do you think, Lady Alexiane? Is she right? Because naturally I am not looking for a captive. Not for a delicate position like that. So, should I indeed turn my eyes to mages... _outside_ the Circles?”

Lady Alexiane looked mortified: “I would most strongly advise against that, Your Radiance!”

“Oh, would you now?” Celene replied, feigning surprise.

“Naturally!” Alexiane stated, obviously fighting down her own outrage. “Your Radiance, I have studied ancient magic history half of my life...”

 _Which means, you read about it in a few books,_ Morrigan thought.

“...I gained access to parts of the Spire’s library most students have not even heard about to intensify my research on both, old Tevinter and ancient elvhen magic...”

_Yes. More books._

“...studied under the greatest minds _all_ Circles have to offer, men and women who have dedicated their whole lives to the study of less conventional ways of the arcane...”

 _So, you talked with a few people who read_ still more _books._

And since the flow of words did not ebb after that, Morrigan also noted: _And you can_ talk _a lot._

“...and finally, there is one point of the utmost importance to consider.”

Celene raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Now what might that be?”

“I have proven my worth! Other than some...wilder,” she glared at Morrigan, “I have mastered my Harrowing, proven that _I_ am no danger for the ones around me.”

_Oh my! Your precious Harrowing. A ball and chain from the templars – and you dare parade it like crown!_

It was utterly ridiculous how mages could develop such pride for their little ‘test’  and consider this the ultimate challenge for mental prowess. If you make it through your Harrowing you won’t break. Ha!

 _Try living in a hut with_ Her _for a few days, girl! Yes, that is right:_ My _Harrowing lasted over two decades, you self-righteous little fool._

It was tempting to let that out, yet Morrigan knew that there was little use for a philosophical discussion of mage freedom here. She needed to _destroy_ this argument instead.

So she put on a cold smile.

“Oh yes, the Harrowing. Ensuring the safety of mages since the dawn of time. And how grand it worked for the Circle in Ferelden during the Blight, I hear.”

For a moment, that seemed to leave Alexiane speechless. Again, Morrigan needed to suppress the urge to throw some more at the woman.

_Yes, you foolish woman. I’ve seen how safe the Harrowing makes you all. And while you were reading books in your little study, hoping to not draw the attention of some templar who’s having a bad day and just waits for an excuse, I was throwing lightings and fireballs at Uldred to clean up your mess._

She didn’t have time to further follow this line of thought because it only took Alexiane a few seconds to gather herself again.

“Well, as...unfortunate as those events were, one should certainly note that all this happened in the _Fereldan_ Circle,” she stated, granting Morrigan a condescending smile before focusing her attention on Celene again, “It is hardly something which could take place at a Circle in civilized nations.”

_Orlesian supremacy. How predictable._

 “’tis most reassuring to hear that, is it not, Your Radiance?” She gave the Empress her brightest smile – which happened to be triumphant rather than bright, to be honest. “So, I take it, the White Spire is calm, peaceful and incorruptible as ever? Such a remarkably bold claim, given recent events.”

Again, Alexiane was taken aback. Good. Kirkwall and the question of mage loyalty raised in the months since had been thrown at her twice today – Morrigan considered it only valid to use it to her own advantage now.

“Of course, it is!” Alexiane finally replied with an effort to sound confident about that. ”The actions of one madman in the Free Marches have no effect on the Circle here either. Mages of the White Spire know where their loyalty lies.”

“Oh, I am _very_ sure about that.” Morrigan said icily.

It was a bold play, of course. Morrigan had no actual insights into the Circle of Magi, but that didn’t really matter. What _did_ matter was that there were enough rumors about unrests in many of the Circles – rumors that Celene must be aware of as well. If this little exchange had been enough to remind Celene of the possible scenarios if an actual rebellion should occur, the Empress would most definitely ask herself the important question: Is a Circle mage during an open rebellion any more trustworthy than an apostate who has no part in that conflict?

_We do live in interesting times, do we not?_

“I fail to see the point in this anyway,” Alexiane’s voice pierced through her thoughts. “After all, this is about who is more useful to you, Your Radiance, yes? And how could an _outsider_ with neither authority, nor influence possibly be of any assistance?”

Her voice sounded more confident again – and yet Morrigan was pleased to notice that there was still a hint of irritation in there.

_If I notice this, Celene will as well._

“ _I_ have been granted indefinite leave for this chance,” Alexiane continued, pride and arrogance fully restored now that she could talk about herself again. “I am certain that you are aware of what that means: The Grand Enchanter _and_ the templars place an amount of trust in my loyalty that is exceptional. This alone should be proof enough of my integrity and my abilities.”

_‘tis not exactly a lie, but of course she was leaving out the part where this ‘indefinite leave’ has its boundaries._

Circle mages were never entirely free. Morrigan had seen how that had worked for Wynne, back in the days. Yes, the old woman had not been imprisoned in a tower, yet the phylactery alone would ensure that she would not go anywhere she was not supposed to without the templars finding her. And she had difficulties imagining that there weren’t other strings attached as well: regular reports and visits at the Circle, meetings with templars to ‘make sure she was alright’, all that.

Alexiane might have been granted the chance for some fresh air instead of dusty studies, but in the end the reward for her ‘integrity’ and the ‘trust’ the templars placed in her went only so far as to grant her a bigger prison. Morrigan knew that – and most likely so did Celene.

And yet, Alexiane continued listing her achievements: “…and my resources are considerable. Not only do I have access to even the most delicate literature and knowledge the Circle keeps safely hidden away. I am _also_ pleased to use all the connections I gathered over the years in your service. Merchants and scholars from all over Thedas who can provide ancient magical artefacts, items of great power or books and scrolls of ancient knowledge.” She turned around to Morrigan again, smiling coldly, “With all due respect: I have my doubt how any outsider would be able to offer anything alike.”

Morrigan fixated her again, their gazes locking for a moment. It was hard to admit, given the stench of arrogance mixed with barely hidden contempt that emanated from this foolish, prideful woman, but her speech _was_ a clever move.

_She has seen how she is losing the other argument, so she is making it all about herself again._

But Morrigan did not intend to make Alexiane’s mistake and give the impression to be taken aback. Her response was quick, cold and sharp: “Indeed, how could I? Well, I do suppose I could bring up the point of the necklace I’m wearing _at this very moment_.  ‘tis, of course, of ancient Tevinter origin, as you are naturally aware of since you have been ogling it in the most suspicious manner already.” Morrigan faced Celene again, not giving Alexiane any chance to protest: “You see, Your Radiance: ‘tis a quite a remarkable arcane artefact, one among many I own. This particularly one was once given to me by a highly influential associate of mine. I wonder how many like that our Lady Alexiane might have in her possession right at this moment? Well, I suppose we just have to take her word on that she can produce some given enough time.”

It was an outright lie. But this was no longer about the truth – this was about appearances and a quick repartee. It did not matter that the ‘influential associate’ of hers had been Leliana – and that she had given her the necklace for the far less spectacular reason that ‘It would look good on you’ back in the Korcari Wilds seven years ago. Yet neither Alexiane nor Celene knew that.  

_And this is how it works, is it not? Using other people’s ignorance to your own advantage while keeping up an appearance. The Game._

She was aware that Alexiane already had a reply on her lips, but the woman never came to utter it.

“ _Mesdames._ ” Celene’s voice cut through their little skirmish like a knife, making them both suddenly aware how the Empress – while constantly being addressed – had remained silent for quite some time now. “While I must say, this has been very…insightful; I unfortunately do have other duties to attend to. The way I see this,” she said in a tone that left no doubt that it was the _only_ way to see it, “you both have interesting points to make and my decision shall be a hard one. Which is why I invite you to stay here for a few days so that we may further find out who is most suitable. While I shall leave for now, I will ask of you to sit down at the tables right over there and write down what exactly you can provide if I shall take you into my service – and where you see your limits.”

Silence filled the room as Morrigan and Alexiane stared at her.

_What?_

Morrigan could barely keep her poise about what she had just heard. This was _not_ the way this was supposed to go! She was on the brink of opening her mouth to give that woman a piece of her mind, but luckily Alexiane was quicker.

“Your Radiance, this is…I must protest! With all due respect, but you cannot possibly expect me to _compete_ with this…this…”

“I am sorry to hear that, Lady Alexiane. Well, of course you do have the right to leave and return to your – undoubtedly – important work at the White Spire if this is not to your liking.”

Alexiane’s eyes widened, suddenly not nearly as enthusiastic about her glorious Circle. “That will not be necessary, Your Radiance. I apologize. I spoke out of term.”

Celene nodded dismissively. “I assume you do not feel the urge to protest, _Lady Rione_?”

Morrigan was still numb after the revelation.

_This is not how it was supposed to go!_

She had prepared for many things when making this plan. She had considered Celene outright refusing her – or turning out to be such an insufferable fool that Morrigan would sooner work in a tavern than even considering to join her service. She had even been prepared for the Empress to send her guards or the templars after her. And yet the idea that she would find herself competing with some self-satisfied Circle girl, courting for Celene’s favour… _writing down_ what she might or might not do – that was most certainly beyond anything she had expected.

For a moment she was about to let it all out, but if Alexiane’s outburst had proven anything, it was the fact that Celene not a woman for that.

_She might be expecting an unconventional advisor for unconventional knowledge, but she also expects to remain in fairly conventional control._

Morrigan smiled. There were always ways to let people _think_ they were in control…

“Your terms are agreeable, Your Radiance,” she said, given the slightest hint of a curtsy.

“Splendid,” Celene replied, “I shall leave you to it then.”

As she turned around and left the room, one of the servants at her side, the other one hurriedly placing quill, ink and papers on the tables, Morrigan shot Alexiane a glance, not really surprised to find the other woman eyeing her as well.

Without any further words, she went for one of the tables, getting ready for the inevitable.

_I hate writing._

* * *

 

 

As she collapsed on the gigantic bed in her room, barely managing to stay afloat in the endless sea of pillows, Morrigan was faced with yet another difficult decision, requiring cold rationality: Did she feel like screaming – or like punching something? She feared that those were the only options. Letting it all out somehow. The suppressed anger. The nagging frustration.

In the end it all came down to the question of whether she was more frustrated with the Empress or herself. True: Celene had played her as well as Alexiane, probably taking quite some pleasure in seeing them at each other’s throats. And in the end it had all come down to a lesson in humility. Making them _write down_ their declarations.

And yet, had it not been her own fault? Didn’t she deserve to be taught exactly that for the foolish arrogance with which she had assumed that she could just stroll in here and take what she wanted on her own terms? How many times had she heard people talking about The Game – and still not considered that such a thing might actually consider sitting down at the metaphorical table and _playing_?

She did give one of the pillows a good punch just to let off some steam. Maybe it would take that as a warning not to trifle with her!

It didn’t help much.

 _A test! She wants to_ test _me._

True enough, Morrigan felt that she had, all things considered, presented herself in a much more dignified manner than that wretched Circle woman. But still, as soon as she had left the library, storming off in barely concealed agitation, she could no longer keep her poise. Servants had jumped out of her way in panic when she glared at them and even Etienne had been remarkably quiet on their way back.

Also, the poor nameless servant man who had been waiting for her back in her room, having prepared yet another bath (did those nobles spend all their days in the bathroom?) and once again asking if he could be of _any_ service had gotten the full load of her suppressed rage. She could barely remember what she had actually said to him – but his pasty-white face as he hurried out of the chamber was still a vivid image.

It was ridiculous.

_A competition?_

The mere thought made her clench her fist. How dare she?

Not for the first time since that little act in the library, a thought came to her mind: Why not just leave? Why degrade herself like this? Maybe this was just a foolish mistake and she just needed to admit to that.

 _No. I am doing this for_ her _._

The thought of Leliana brought at least some calmness back into her blood. That was the upside.

The downside was: It also made her doubt even more. Yes, the intention had been to find a place here in Val Royeaux where she could be close enough to keep an eye on Leliana. The idea to work at some noble’s court was not a bad one, either. Many looked for some mage, not exactly to _do_ anything, but more importantly to _have_ one. The reasoning had been flawless so far.

But why did it have to be the Empress herself?

_I could have chosen any little nobleman, could I not? It would have been much easier. And maybe even more subtle._

And that was the painful truth, was it not? It was not about subtlety. Once she had reached the decision to actually do this, it wasn’t even about Leliana alone anymore. The choice to go for a place near the Empress herself had been born of something else: her own pride.

Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, daughter of Flemeth would not hide at the minor court of some petty noble. No, of course not! In fact, she would not hide at all. Years she had spent exploring the world of the Eluvian...which had also served as her safe haven where Flemeth would never be able to track her.

But ever since Kirkwall – since that night, in which the thought that Flemeth had just taken away that, which was most important to her, had almost driven her insane – ever since then, she had decided that she would hide no more. She would no longer let Flemeth dictate the terms of her life. She would not live in fear any longer.

_And that’s what this is about, is it not? A foolish act of pride and defiance._

She sighed. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it was time to forgo her own foolish arrogance and focus on the important bit. Maybe it _was_ smarter and more subtle to search for a place at the side of some minor noble instead. What did she gain from suffering more humiliations here?

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

For a moment, Morrigan just frowned at the door. After all, who could possibly want to talk to her now? Not the Empress, that was certain. So...yet another servant maybe?

She snorted at the prospect of once again getting offered _any_ service (whatever that was supposed to mean, she did not even want to know), she rose from the bed and went for the door.

As she opened it just a bit, she was once more utterly surprised.

“Lady Rione,” Alexiane said, with much less hostility in her mind than at their last meeting, “Might I have a word in private?”

It took a few second – during which Morrigan carefully considered the benefit of just slamming the door in the woman’s face – before she reluctantly opened up. Alexiane, already wearing a different, far less extravagant dress than an hour ago, gracefully entered the room. As Morrigan shut the door, she had already reached the table at the side, carefully eyeing the bottle of unopened wine on it.

“The chambers are magnificent, no?” she stated conversationally, while letting her gaze wander through the whole room, not really hiding her curiosity.

“What do you want?” Morrigan’s voice was matter-of-factly, not willing to let herself get trapped into yet another round of Orlesian small talk.

Alexiane sighed noticeable. Obviously _she_ had hoped for some pointless formalities. All the better then that Morrigan would not give her any.

“Well, I came here to apologize for my earlier behaviour,” Alexiane said.

Now that _did_ come as a surprise.

“It is true,” Alexiane continued as if sensing Morrigan’s puzzlement, “I have the utmost respect for the Fereldan people and did not mean to insult you.”

Morrigan let that go without comment.

_Seriously? Ferelden again?_

Why both, Alexiane and Celene, seemed to be under the impression that she should be treated as if she were some ambassador of the country she just happened to be born in, was beyond her. Morrigan couldn’t care less about nations and borders – and would probably never understand how people could obsess about any of that.

Alexiane seemed to realize that she would not get any reply to that and continued: “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot, so to speak. Both of us obviously are aware of the charade Her Radiance is setting up here. We both know there is only one sensible choice for her to make.”

_Yes, we do. But I have the distinct feeling that we might disagree on what this ‘sensible choice’ would be..._

Nevertheless that comment made Morrigan smile. She had wondered what this visit was about and why that smug woman was suddenly acting so friendly. The purpose became obvious even without her saying it.

“You expect me to forgo on this opportunity. That would be the reason for this visit, I assume?”

Alexiane seemed genuinely surprised that Morrigan had been able to figure that out. So much for ‘utmost respect’...

“Well, yes, indeed. I do not mean you any ill will, Lady Rione. It is just...,” she smiled without the faintest hint of humor, “we both wouldn’t want this to end badly now, would we? I mean, the Chantry’s eyes are everywhere nowadays and it would be _such_ a shame if after your defeat – and we both know that you will lose – you’d find a few templars awaiting you outside the gates.”

Morrigan did not give any reaction to that on the outside. Inside, however, she was roaring with laughter.

_A threat? Now that is precious!_

“Well, well, what a grand gesture of you to warn me about that. I guess I shall better try to win then?”

“Don’t be absurd. There is no way for you to win this. But if you would consider an alternative? If, say, you would happen to be gone by tomorrow,” she smiled, “I could make that _very_ worthwhile for you.”

 _So you are some rich noble’s daughter then, who thinks that you can buy everything she likes? Now_ that _explains a lot..._

Morrigan smiled. “Thank you,” she stated happily.

Alexiane frowned. That was obviously not a reaction she had expected.

“Does that mean...you accept?”

Morrigan smirked, coldly. “No, _girl_.Of course it does not. However, do consider me grateful for your amusing little visit. And you do have my thanks for your pathetic attempts at threatening me.”

_...and for giving me a reason to go on with this._

“I see,” Alexiane said, the old familiar hostility finally returning.

Abruptly she turned around, heading straight for the door and opened it. Before she stepped through it, however, she turned around one last time, her eyes cold: “I am glad that you had a good laugh then. I doubt there will be many more of those for you.”

It was quite a surprise that she did not slam the door.

* * *

 

 

As she opened her eyes again, the first thing Briala’s senses noted, was an absence: the complete and utter lack of Empress in the Empress’ bed. Single-mindedly, her eyes turned towards the desk, where she spotted Celene.

_Of course. Never a moment’s rest._

She stretched herself before rising out of the bed soundlessly. She couldn’t have dozed for more than a few minutes, she noticed, since her body was still sweaty from the rather intense...exercise Celene had put her through.

_Remember to change the sheets before you leave. As usual._

Still naked and caring little for it, she made her way towards her beloved, who was intensely studying papers on the desk. Briala knew all too well which papers. She gave a sigh.

“You are barely finished with me and already your mind is on other women? Should I be offended?” she mocked.

Celene gave a start (she _really_ was focused on those papers!), though most people wouldn’t have noticed that, given the fluent motion with which her head turned towards her. Briala did notice of course. There was a certain familiarity in the reflexes that was uncanny. Each woman who had undergone bard training knew it.

“I doubt any of those two could hold up with you, Bria.” Celene smiled. Then she turned towards the papers again, shaking her head as she stared at a single sheet. “But listen to this: ‘What I offer: Knowledge. Power. Insight. What I cannot offer: Limits.’ Signed ‘Morrigan’. That is all! Barely more than ten words. Oh, the impertinence of that woman! And the handwriting...you would think that’s a child’s hand.”

“So, you like her already? That was quick.” Briala placed herself behind her Empress, her breasts pressing against Celene’s back as she looked over her shoulder. The scrawly handwriting was indeed that of a woman who barely knew to write, but Briala already knew it because she had been there when Morrigan had written it. The memory almost made her giggle. The whole situation had been quite surreal: Alexiane writing down more than ten pages intently while Morrigan, all the while, had been sitting there patiently with arms crossed in front of her chest. And then, the very moment the other woman had finished her little essay, Morrigan had taken the quill with no care in the world, scribbled down her few words...and left.

It had been an act of insult and humiliation – directed at both, Alexiane as well as Celene. Of course Briala had told the Empress about it dutifully, though with barely hidden amusement.

Right now, anyone else in the palace would have considered the woman in question in deep trouble given the irritation in Celene’s voice. Briala knew better.

_Oh, Celene..._

“Just one day and already the witch has enchanted you?” she smirked as she gave a soft kiss on Celene’s left cheek.

Her beloved frowned, but not at the kiss. She had barely noticed that, it seemed. “So, we have already decided that she _is_ a witch?”

Briala shrugged. “It would be impossible to tell. She certainly _wants_ us to think so. You heard her: ‘a simple woman out of the wilderness’, right?” The words were still in her ears even though she had just heard them muttered through the little hole behind the painting while eavesdropping. “That’s certainly what most people would call a witch.”

“She could lie.”

“Yes, she could. But why would she? What reason could she have to deliberately declare herself not only an apostate, but rather something that many would undoubtedly consider _maleficar_ by definition.”

Still, Celene was right of course: she could lie. For whatever reasons.

“So, you have nothing that contradicts her story?” Celene inquired.

“No, though that means nothing considering how little she actually gave of it. She is Ferelden, though, so she might actually be _the_ Morrigan.”

“Are we sure about that? She did not react at all when I mentioned Ferelden.”

Briala knew what Celene was getting at. No provocation involving her homeland had made the woman even flinch. And the mere fact that Morrigan _sounded_ Fereldan did not have to mean much in itself either. There were a great many Fereldan women who had been...relocated during or after the occupation.  The thought of what had happened to those women would give many a shudder, but Briala couldn’t bring herself to that. Not when the same and worse happened to women and girls of her own people every single day in some alienage or another. Morrigan was too young to be any of those women, anyway – though she might be the daughter of one.

_But she is not. There are enough indicators._

Which brought her back to Celene’s question: “No, she did not react, that is true. But she did not deny it either. She mentioned the events of the Fereldan Circle when talking with Alexiane. And she certainly seems unfamiliar with our customs here. Several of my people have informed me that she _did_ go to your meeting in the same dress she arrived in.”

Oh, some of the servants had been mortified when they had told her about it – to the point where they had forgotten that they wer talking to a woman who, under different circumstances, would have been alien to the mere concept of even _having_ more than one dress.

Celene chuckled. “Well, at least it does confirm that she is not familiar with noble customs – Ferelden or not. And I agree: A woman from outside civilized territory in Orlais would hardly know about the events at the Fereldan Circle almost ten years ago. What else did you learn?”

“Little. She did not touch any of the books we placed in her room. Or at least, if she did, she put them back in the shelf when she went to the audience, which means that they do not seem to interest her very much. Oh, she _also_ sent both of the...companions away. She took the bath, but she did not show any...interest in either the girl or the young man.”

Celene raised an eyebrow. “That is curious. Most of our guests are less...reluctant. Maybe she did not get what they were hinting at?”

“It is possible. But there is also another possibility.”

Celene nodded. “Yes, I know. She might have someone.” She chuckled again. “Though I do find that hard to believe.”

“Indeed.” Briala could only agree. Morrigan did not exactly strike her as the type for a solid relationship. But then again: who knew?

Celene seemed to think the same: “Do look into it.”

“Of course.” If the woman would give any signs of a connection – letters, visits, words told in confidence – Briala would learn of it.

“Now, about the other one...”

Briala suppressed a sigh of relief at the change of topic. Alexiane was safer territory. While she had about reached the limits of what she could say about Morrigan with any certainty, things were easier with the Circle mage.

“Well, she at least is definitely who she claims to be. The handwriting on those papers in front of you matches the one from a number of essays from the White Spire. Many of them about ancient artefacts, old elvhen architecture and subjects of magic and the Fade. Her most acclaimed work is supposed to be a compendium about something or someone called ‘The Formless One’, a demonic creature from what I can gather.”

Celene nodded while obviously in thoughts. “Then she was not lying when claiming to have access to knowledge few in the Circle are allowed to study.”

“Indeed. She also spoke the truth when it comes to her indefinite leave. A...friend of mine at the Circle was able to look into it. The documents are authentic as is the Chantry sigil. She is allowed to act outside the Circle – with certain restrictions, naturally, but none of them would be in conflict with her working for you.”

“That certainly sounds extraordinary.”

“Usually yes,” Briala agreed, “but it seems that the number of mages allowed such privileges has increased since...”

There was no need to finish that sentence. Again Celene nodded knowingly.

“One of Dorothea’s measures?”

“Most likely. The Divine seems intent on not letting things escalate any further.”

Celene seemed to contemplate that. Briala knew that she and the Divine did have the occasional correspondence; it was only befitting for Orlais’ worldly leader and the head of the Chantry, after all. That didn’t necessary mean that Celene agreed with everything the Divine did. “I wonder if that is wise. Allowing some mages more freedom might not have the desired effect. I assume that the Lord Seeker, for example, would very much disagree with that.”

Briala made a grimace. “Very much so, I fear,” she stated. She had seen Lord Seeker Lambert only once at a ball here in the palace. A harsh and resolute man. Indeed not the kind of man who would agree to the Divine’s idea of diplomacy. She wondered if Justinia’s well-meant attempts might not have an undesired side-effect. While some mages might enjoy their little privileges, others might have to pay the bill for the templars feeling left behind by the Divine.

She pushed those thoughts aside. These were not her problems – or Celene’s. Sure, the Chantry’s internal conflicts might easily become those of the Empress as well if things turned out badly, but it was not Briala’s place to judge. The Divine had her own people to work on that. “Anyway: While Lady Alexiane’s leave might be a result of the Divine’s policy, there are also other possibilities. Even before Kirkwall, mages of noble birth, for example, were occasionally reported to have received certain...benefits.”

 _...at least as long as their families saw to that_ , she added to herself. Many nobles preferred to pretend their ‘blessed’ offspring did not exist once signs of magic had shown – some of them even favoured the idea of ‘tragic accidents’ inside a tower leading to solving that problem.

“Could that be the case here? Is Alexiane nobility?”

Briala nodded. “Yes. Her father’s wealth is quite a substantial, though he does not crave too much attention. The humble kind.” Which made him one among a rare breed in this country...

“Such a pity that his daughter does not step into his footsteps there,” Celene sighed.

Briala chuckled. “Yes, not exactly one for humility, that one.”

“’Not exactly’?” Celene raised an eyebrow and waved with the stack of papers in the most delicate handwriting. “This here is her, sixteen pages full of!”

“Well, I guess she likes to talk about herself,” Briala mused, slowly caressing her beloved’s hair.

“Very much.” Celene sighed. “So. The choice is between the opportunistic, most likely brilliant snob – and the smug, uncivilized, potentially dangerous witch?”

“I am pretty sure I have an idea who you like better...”

“I don’t have the luxury to go for sympathy here. It has to be the smart choice.”

“Yes,” Briala whispered seductively, “but it’s not a choice you have to make right now, do you?” She was getting tired of this talk. Also: cold.

A wicked smile appeared on Celene’s lips as she turned around and looked at Briala. “As usual, you are right, Bria,” she said, rising from the chair, finally (finally!) touching Briala’s naked skin again, immediately making her shiver. “Yes, indeed. Tonight, there are other things to do.”


	3. Coup!

“Pardon me, Madame?”

Morrigan smiled. Most people would’ve believed Etienne to actually have missed her question – she herself might have fallen for that just a few days ago. But during those days her senses had sharpened for the little subtleties in tone. And more importantly: for the things that were _not_ said. When everyone around you wore those ridiculous masks, hiding parts of their face that might give a clue to what they were thinking, you learned to adopt. Look out for other signs.

Like that little pause before he asked his polite pardon. Just a fracture too long for someone who had actually not heard what she had said.

_You did understand my question, did you not? And now you are just trying to buy time._

“Oh, nothing of importance, Etienne,” she stated, hoping to sound casual enough, “I was just wondering if you happened to know the name of that woman.”

“It is Briala, if I remember correctly.” No pause this time. So, he had decided that it was less suspicious to give an actual answer instead of evading.  

_I have no doubt that you ‘remember correctly’, you little fool._

“She is the Her Radiance’s handmaid, Madame. Has been for quite a few years if memory serves right,” he attempted to sound as conversational as ever. It was a nice try and certainly sounded convincing.

And it didn’t change the fact that Morrigan’s question after the woman had taken him aback.

_My instincts did not play tricks on me then._

“Why did you ask, Madame? Did she bother you? If so, just say the word and I’ll see to it. I am sure she meant no harm, but you know how those knife-ears are. Too curious for their own good.”

_Oh, I have the distinct feeling that the very same holds true for most servants here. Male humans included, my sneaky little friend._

And if Morrigan was not mistaken, Etienne ‘seeing to it’ was not something that would actually happen. For a moment, she played around with the idea to actually claim this Briala woman had behaved in an inappropriate manner, just to see how that would play out, but undoubtedly that would result in yet another act. As amusing as that might be, it would also take an advantage away from her.

“Oh, no, she did not. ‘tis just that she seemed to remind me of a woman who serves at our house back in Alyons. I was wondering if she might be a relative, but the name Briala does not sound familiar.”

That should be enough to calm down Etienne’s suspicion at her question, she hoped. She did not want to give anything away yet. After all, Celene had made such an effort to uphold the impression that the servants accompanying her during their little meetings in the past few days did change quite a lot in number, personnel and masks. It would be a shame to reveal how Morrigan had noticed how whenever any of those meetings involved actual, delicate talks, Briala – what a coincidence! –  always just happened to be among those serving the Empress. Morrigan was not entirely sure what exactly the duties of a handmaid were, but either Briala had the extraordinary luck that Celene always seemed to require her service during the _interesting_ meetings...or there was more to it.

_‘In the Game, every player uses eyes, ears and mouth – and not necessarily just their own’._

Leliana’s words, which – when stripped of their fanciness and phrased more directly – would translate to: there are spies everywhere. Why would the Empress be an exception?

Morrigan at least would think that an elven handmaid was unsuspicious enough to be a useful tool for Celene. The same might hold true for Etienne: His reaction when she had brought up Briala out of a sudden could be an indicator that he might be a spy as well.

There was no doubt _that_ she was being watched. So much had become obvious. It was no coincidence that during her first days there had been servants in and around her chamber waiting for her – decidedly attractive servants, who seemed to come in all flavors: men, women, elves, humans, tall or small, old or young, blond or brunette...

It had taken her embarrassingly long to realize what was going on. According to Leliana, seduction and entanglement in love affairs was one of the most basic plays in the Game (Morrigan was still glad that Leliana had spared her the details of her own wisdom in that regard...), so it did make sense that Celene would try to secure her future advisor’s loyalty in such a way. Well, Morrigan had not fallen for that – and as soon as it had become obvious that there was nothing to gain, the appearances of the servants had miraculously stopped. She wondered if Celene came up with all of this by herself or if she might have a...well, a Left Hand just like the Divine did.

_Most likely she does. But most likely, that person will manage to be invisible for me._

She also wondered if Alexiane had fallen for the honey trap...

Oh, Alexiane! The thought of that woman’s presence alone made her blood boil. During the last five days she had most certainly not left out any opportunity to denigrate both apostates and Fereldens alike while parading a new little magical trinket in a vain attempt to make up for her (obviously humiliating) loss against Morrigan at their first meeting. It was a pathetic display – and Morrigan hoped that Celene saw right through it as well.

And yet, that was the problem. Celene would easily identify those cheap maneuvers to impress her, sure. But she had no way to know that those trinkets, while magical, were by no means ancient and mysterious, but rather dull and ordinary.

Of course Morrigan had taken the liberty to inform her about just that in one of their private ‘sessions’, the meetings without Alexiane around, but Celene’s reaction had been...less than satisfying.

“Oh, is that so? I do have _your_ _word_ on that? How very reassuring,” she had simply stated in a bored tone which suggested that she was well aware that Alexiane might be parading worthless junk in front of her – but also of the fact that Morrigan’s might have ulterior motives to ‘inform’ her about that. And whether she could trust the witch’s observation there. Which in turn raised the question of how dedicated Morrigan actually was to tell the truth...

_When you grow up in schemes within schemes, doubting anyone’s words becomes a natural state of being._

Morrigan knew that only too well. Unfortunately, that could also be her greatest disadvantage. Because if Celene was aware of how both of them tried their best to manipulate her while at the same time lacking the magical insight to verify, it all came down to this: Whom did she trust more? And who seemed more useful?

_And Alexiane is certainly crafty when it comes to_ appear _useful..._

The trinkets were one thing. The scholastic wisdom was another: Alexiane’s knowledge of the occult and forbidden might only originate from books and scrolls – yet that made the things she’d tell available for checking. Every ritual had a fancy little name, every claim about ancient history had at least one or two ‘honorable researchers’ whose works the Empress might consult to verify as sources.

Morrigan’s knowledge in turn – while no doubt more powerful and closer to the truth than any writing from some scholars – remained obscure and mysterious. Celene would have to rely on her word.

_And here we are back at the onset of my little dilemma..._

Alexiane would take any opportunity to remind Celene of these facts when they were in their own little ‘sessions’. Morrigan knew that for a fact from the first two times she could actually, well...listen in. The bird shape had come in handy for that. Unfortunately, that had only lasted as long as the first time she was asked to demonstrate shapeshifting when they were all together. Most likely, Celene had asked for that mainly to see Alexiane’s reaction. A little triumph that had been, at least: the fine Lady had nothing even close to that to show on her behalf.

_But it cost me the edge of spying on them._ Because naturally from that day on, Alexiane grew noticeably silent whenever she and Celene passed any birds or animals during their sessions.

Oh, the sessions.

Morrigan sighed. Apart from the little moments of triumph when she had noticed the thing with Briala or seen Celene’s impressed reaction when they touched the topic of ancient elves (probably one field where Morrigan had the advantage over Alexiane) – apart from these little wins, the meetings were mainly two things: exceptionally dull and tiresome. Endless questions about her abilities, her origin, her sources of knowledge, piled under formalities and etiquette. She was glad when those were over.

_Just like this one._

Finally, that thought brought her back to the here and now, as she was standing in front of her chamber with Etienne.

“Will that be all, Madame?” the young man inquired.

Morrigan only nodded, accepted his curtsy impassively and turned to open the door. From the corner of her eye, she could see Etienne rushing down the corridor, presumably to fetch Alexiane for her own little appointment with the Empress. _Of course_ Celene would have seen to their rooms being located very close to each other, making it inevitable for both women to run into each other regularly. And Morrigan was fairly sure that those encounters would always be silently witnessed by some servant to report.

_Schemes within schemes. Eyes and ears everywhere._

As she lay down on the bed exhausted from another day of not actually doing much, she once more hoped for the night.

She had plans for the night. She always had.

 

* * *

 

 

_Well then, a last and final one._

Morrigan took a leap and spread her wings, focused on the windowsill which belonged to a room still lit by a candle. It was not that she needed the light – not in her current form. The raven would have no problems seeing in the dark and spying into the rooms of utter darkness would have been just as easy for her. She had no actual idea why she still stuck to the ones with people still awake.

_I have no actual idea what I’m doing here anyway. ‘tis madness._

Carefully, she landed on the windowsill without making so much as a sound that might startle the person inside.

...only that she didn’t really care as soon as she had taken a good look at the woman in there – a young girl wearing the robes of a Chantry novice was combing her long dark hair in front of a mirror.

Not what she had hoped for.

What she _had_ hoped for was to finally find the room which would grant her a glimpse at another woman with shorter red hair...

She wondered what the frustrated sigh she was about to let out would sound like when it came out of a beak instead of a mouth.

This was ridiculous. How could she have let it come to this? Flying around the quarters of the Grand Cathedral in bird form in the middle of the night? Hoping to somehow locate the one room among the hundreds without having the slightest idea where Leliana was actually lodged? Madness!

_What am I doing here?_

This was beyond common sense. They had made plans. It had all been laid out perfectly. She would meet Leliana again in just a few weeks, at a safe place near Val Chevin. The Left Hand of the Divine would be on one of her long term journeys then and she would travel alone and unseen. No one would know them there. No suspicions. No spies. Just the two of them. It was perfect for all but one flaw.

_I want to see her now!_

There was no reasoning to it, no logic. And that ate at her. How could it have come to this?

When they had started becoming...something, it had seemed perfect. They would be separated for some time and not appear together anywhere where they would attract attention – perfect. Neither had Morrigan had any intentions to stay in larger cities or among many people, nor did she mind being separated for weeks and weeks. After all, being alone was what she had been used to all of her life. Her freedom and independence were things she treasured deeply and thus it had always been clear that she would not want to be involved in the kind of relationship people kept complaining about: being shackled at each other, ever-compromising, always bound to the other one, every day in every week of every month.

She had never wanted that.

_And now I feel unable to wait for a few more weeks without seeing her._

Truly pathetic! It was not like she could actually _do_ anything, even if she should find Leliana’s place. She could not just get in there or talk to her. It would be impossible to touch her – to do anything beyond looking was a risk she could not take.

And yet one look would suffice, would it not? Just one little glimpse at that face and she’d finally be reminded of why she went through all this. Just one glimpse...

_Am I being obsessive?_

It sure seemed that way. It had not escaped her attention how often her mind had been drifting off towards Leliana during the past few days, how often some totally unconnected statement or conversation had reminded her of something she had said or done. Had not even that simple little chat with Etienne earlier brought her back to Leliana twice?

_Not to mention my nightly trips to the Grand Cathedral..._

She wondered what Leliana might even think of this if she knew about these trips. Knowing her, she would most likely call them ‘cute’ or ‘sweet’.

Also ‘creepy’.

Maybe they were.

This had been her fourth night out here. Of course, trying this during the day was out of the question because her absence might have been noted should the Empress suddenly decide to call her...or should any of the servants who would offer _any kind_ of service unexpectedly show up again because Celene’s spymaster had thought of one more ‘type’ that had not yet been tested with her.

But during the night...

...during the night she could do this. And she had longed to do it. The dullness at the Imperial Palace, the endless questions and the waiting for something to happen were nagging at her.

_Maybe that is it. Maybe I am just tired of all that._

Tired.

Yes indeed she was, she noted. Staying in the bird shape for so long had drawn a lot of her strength already and she would need to turn back soon. The exhaustion due to the short nights and lack of sleep, combined with herself not having much of an appetite lately might be too much for her.

_I really need to turn back now._

As she finally hurled herself back in the air and spread her wings again to slowly glide down towards the street, she couldn’t help but wonder what she had hoped to achieve here anyway. How could she possibly find Leliana’s room here? _Was_ the Left Hand of the Divine even lodged in any of the buildings here? Wouldn’t she have a bedroom closer to Justinia herself?

_To_ Dorothea _herself._

It took an effort to shift back into herself. Certainly: had anyone witnessed the transformation (which of course no one did – she made sure of that) they would not have seen any of it. It happened in one fluent motion in midflight. Graceful. Elegant. And yet it came with a slight stinging pain. She had been in this form too long, too exhausted to move on immediately. And so she leaned against a wall, took a deep breath and made a grimace – though this one was not born of exhaustion.

_Dorothea._

The woman’s name always had that effect on her. Well, it was not actually her name itself, but the very fact that the whole world only knew her as ‘Justinia’ or ‘The Divine’ – while to Leliana she was something else.

Morrigan wasn’t jealous of that woman – of course not! That would be pathetic!

After all: why should she be? Wasn’t it just perfectly normal that she had to share her beloved with another woman, a woman whom Leliana happened to admire to the point of worship? A woman who had her Love at her disposal at any time to heed her every whim any day while Morrigan had to wait weeks and weeks for their next chance to meet. A woman Leliana could barely stop babbling about _even_ when they finally were together.

And, just to add insult to injury, there was the tiny little fact that Morrigan should actually be _grateful_ to that accursed woman because other than Morrigan, Dorothea had been there when Leliana had needed her the most, when she had been shattered and broken. Worse: She had seen something in that bruised and battered girl at this very moment, some potential for much more – something that Morrigan herself hadn’t noticed until many years after that.

_What would I have done had I found her like that in the cell? Saved her?_

Maybe. But beyond that? Would she have told Leliana that she had value, that she mattered? Would she have built her up again to become the woman she was now? Or would she have snorted disdainfully and told her how weak and gullible she had been to let herself be played like a fool by Marjolaine?

Unfortunately, the answer was painfully obvious.

And that was a shame she would never be able to make up for, no matter how hard she tried. Dorthea had been there when Leliana needed her – and the limitless trust and loyalty she had gained for that were, painful as that was to admit, only just.

So, absolutely no reason to be jealous, right?

_Calm down. You are not thinking clearly._

As if her body had only waited for that words as a signal, she set her feet in motion, hoping that it would somehow chase those thoughts away.

Naturally, it did not work.

_‘tis ridiculous. I do not have to_ share _her with anyone! I do not compete with the blasted Divine like I am forced to with Alexiane._

And yet...

Yet there was no denying that Dorothea’s bond with Leliana was – and always would be – older than Morrigan’s own. Was that woman even aware of her existence? Leliana always said how close they were and how they shared everything. Did that mean she had revealed her biggest and most dangerous secret to the Divine? And if so – did it matter? Did it play any role in their planning and scheming and their everyday life? Or were they ignoring her altogether?

_Does she think of me like I think of her? Does_ she _get reminded of things I have said and done all the time?_

Was there no place for Leliana’s witch lover in the world of the Divine and her Left Hand?

Oh, that world she would never have access to! A world of Andraste, the Maker and that blasted Chant. Martyrs and _maleficar_. Templars and apostates. Religion and politics.

_...and a world where Leliana will risk her life if asked to._

It was maddening: Just one year ago, she had nearly died because that blasted woman had sent her into the Kirkwall Chantry at the wrong time – and still she would do it again anytime if Dorothea just asked it of her. And she _would_ sacrifice herself if necessary, would she not? She risked her very life for holy quest she and Dorothea considered worthwhile.

_Nothing is worth Leliana’s life._

And the very fact that this “divine” fool was unable to see that made her a problem.

Morrigan sighed.

Was it selfish and ignorant of her to occasionally think that everything would be better if that woman was just...gone?  Maybe. But if so, she would gladly accept that. Dorothea might have been important to make Leliana whole again, no doubt. But she had served that purpose. Leliana did not need her anymore. And Morrigan would very much welcome the day that woman was out of the picture. Indeed she would.

_Everything will be better then. Everything will..._

All of the sudden something interrupted her reflections. Cold rational thinking mercilessly cut off by something raw and simple.

_Something is amiss._

Her senses shrieked in the highest pitch, alarming her of a nearby presence.

She did not need to turn around – in fact, it might have been a foolish move to do so – to notice that the streets were not nearly as lonely and uninhabited as they seemed.

She was being followed.

Everything began to slide into focus as her senses took control, ordering her muscles to remain calm and not give a hint of her awareness.

_Keep walking. Do not give them any idea that you noticed them._

Them.

Indeed.

Three persons, judging from their steps all men. Boots too heavy for simple beggars. Steps too intent for a group of men who just happened to walked down the same street, too regular for drunken folk who might have just stumbled out of a tavern after a few drinks.

Bandits, then. Cutthroats stalking the streets at night for unfortunate souls who happened to be out alone.

_Such as I._

While she kept her head still, her eyes wandered around, observing the situation around her as good as possible. The bandits were no utter fools; they had been waiting for their chance until she was in a part of the city where no witnesses were to be expected. All was quiet, no taverns around, no fully lit establishments.

_Nowhere to run then... at least if I were the helpless victim they are hoping for._

A wolfish grin appeared on her face. It just so happened, that they had decided to go after a woman far more resourceful than they could possibly imagine. Other than running and screaming for help until they silenced her, Morrigan had two much more promising options: turning into a bird again and fly away...or teaching these fools a lesson.

And unfortunately for them, she was in no mood for fleeing tonight.

There was no real reason to fight, no need for a conflict. It wasn’t the smart option – or the easy one. But sometimes...

_...sometimes it just feels right to make things burn._

She took a deep breath and played it through in her head. They had no idea what they were in for – and they also had no clue that she was aware of them at all. Three men were no real threat if she did it right.

_Bring the first one down before they even realize what is happening. That is the key._

If she could bring the odds down to two against one, she just needed to ensure that none of them would be able to get behind her. That could be arranged, though. They hadn’t made a move yet, so she had the advantage to choose the ground. She might just take a turn into some smaller alley. No chance to encircle her there.

And even if they were extraordinarily quick they would not be able to reach her before she’d dealt a second blow. Which left the only threat in ranged attacks: she needed to prepare for the case that at least one of them might start throwing knives, but that could be dealt with beforehand.

She would have nodded to herself in agreement, but of course she had enough sense to not do that. It might have been suspicious.

_Act natural._

She moved along at the exact pace she had used before, cold and focused, fully aware of the steps behind her. They did not get closer yet.

The bandits felt confident enough to not rush things then. And why would they? From their perspective everything seemed to go exactly as planned, unaware of the unfortunate fact that within less than a minute they would all be dead.

There it was: the small alley she had hoped for. Not a dead end, probably (there weren’t many of those in Val Royeaux), but narrow enough to ensure they would not be able to close in on her. They’d all have to face her.

_A staring contest you will lose, fools._

As she approached the alley, she reached out into the mighty Source inside of her, feeling the energy tingle under her skin.

_Do not release. Do not release. Do not release._

It took all her willpower to subdue the itching sparks of pure energy, pressing,  pressing from the inside.

_Not yet._

In every fight it always came down to seconds. The tiny fractures of a moment that would determine if the enemy saw what was coming or not. And she would not give anything away before it was too late.

She turned the corner, waiting for the exact moment she knew would bring her out of her followers’ sight – and released the flow, forming a sparkling field of protective energy around her.

_Defense first._

She subdued the excitement and weird wave of serene euphoria that always accompanied the release of the arcane power in any form. Yes, it came down to seconds – and so she had not a single one to waste. Immediately, she went for the next step, this time reaching quite aggressively right into the Source, grabbing for a much rawer part. Something more...primal.

She turned around, finding the perfect moment she had calculated as the men turned the corner behind her. She flexed the muscles in her right hand...and hurled _it_ straight at the man on the front. Within seconds the dark, elemental power of stone, unleashed and directed into a singular horizontal line struck through the air, mercilessly sweeping away everything in its way like an avalanche.

The man’s head happened to be among the things in its way.

_That’s the first._

A shout escaped from the mouth of one of the other fellow, who for a moment (which, during a battle, was equal to an eternity) just stood there in disbelief, before finally – eons later – reaching into his belt with both hands.

Almost (almost!) Morrigan would have had her next spell at the ready before he had pulled out the knives, but the Source became harder to grasp this time. There was only so much power she could handle at once – and so the dagger flew into her direction before she could react.

_But ‘tis what the force field is for, right?_

With a sizzling sound that might or might not be just her imagination, the otherwise deadly blade was cut out of the air, falling down right in front of her, harmlessly. 

With a confused look that did not last as long as she had hoped, he raised his arm behind him, to hurl another knife at her, while behind him the third man had pulled out a sword, a decisively unlikely bandit’s weapon, but Morrigan did not feel like judging him for that.

Instead she felt like _burning_ his blasted comrade. With all the effort she could summon up, she flung the deadly fire at him, setting the man ablaze in an instance. A shriek of terror escaped him as the flames greedily feasted on his clothes and skin – growing, ever growing. The second dagger did not even leave his hand.

_Leaves only one..._

As the man with the sword gathered himself and fixated her, Morrigan realized two things.

First: She had drawn too much too quick. The Source inside her could be tricky and the slightest misjudgement could make her power dwindle much more than she anticipated. Maybe it was the exhaustion from her long presence in bird form or maybe she had just pulled too hastily for the fire. It did not matter because it all came down to the simple fact that she was worn out and needed time until she was able to tear more magick from her Source. At least five or six seconds.

The second thing she realized was that five or six seconds could feel like an eternity in a fight.

Grim determination as the man starts charging at her. In his body language. Not on his face, she can’t see his face yet.

Alright, on his face, too. He is quick. Something inside her screams.

Fear. Panic. Terror. He is too quick, she is too slow. She beats that voice down. No time for that. Grabbing, grasping, pulling…

The flow comes. Slowly. Yet it comes. Arcane energy in her veins, in her blood, everywhere. Why has she raised her hands? Protection? She doesn’t need protection! The blast of air will hurl him away. ‘tis a simple spell, she has no more in her right now. It will have to do.

Almost there. What to do when it hits? No time to waste. If it throws him against the wall, she needs to run. Not to flee, but to create a distance. Gather more power. Destroy that fool. Almost there. (He, too)

Gone…

For a singular moment, time stood completely still as Morrigan felt like someone had taken the ground away from under her –  and she had one split-second to grasp that all around her was air. No pain, but nothingness. The Source, the force field, the flow – gone entirely. As if they never existed.

As the bull of a man draw ever nearer mercilessly, she could not help but stare at her opponent’s face stunned and confused, unable to make sense of it.

And then she could.

She was not sure what gave it away – that fire in his eyes? The beads of perspiration on his forehead? The poise? It all became clear in one instant of terrible realization.

_Templar._ Her eyes widened. _‘tis a blasted templar!_

The impact threw her off instantly, her raised arms swept away with brute force, barely able to resist anything as he ran into her. Something hit her in the face; something else pierced her in the right shoulder sending a hailstorm of pain through her body. Actual, physical pain. What a strangely familiar, yet long forgotten sensation.

And he above her.

Instinctively, she jerked and tried to pull free, but a strong hand at her throat pressed her down again. Wildly thrashing, yet achieving nothing but more waves of pain. All she could do was staring at the man above her, one knee down in her abdomen (more pain), his sword raised to bring the fatal blow…

…and the blade that suddenly protruded from his throat.

Morrigan had heard her fair share of fighting stories. Men and women boasting with their kills on the battlefield. Often they would claim how their victim would stop in mid-movement and voicelessly stare at them as the blade had pierced through them, unable to understand what had just happened. Not able to fathom that they were, in fact dead.

The templar did not stare. He did not hold still.

In fact, his body spasmed frantically as he tried to pull free from the blade in his throat. He wasn’t silent either. Horrible gurgling sounds accompanied his fight for air and life. He was pushed aside by the silhouette behind him, to continue his struggle with the blade on the floor – a fight he would inevitably lose in a few seconds.

“You fool! What did you think?”

A deep, hoarse voice drew her attention from the dying templar back to his killer. It was all a blur, but Morrigan could see something getting closer, a familiar shape pushing forward, paraded in front of her…a hand.

He was reaching out a hand.

_And he has called me a fool._

There were limits of what she would accept. And she most certainly would _not_ take a hand of someone who was insulting her!

Ignoring the man’s offer, she pushed herself in an upright position with both hands, her wounded shoulder still throbbing.

_How very smart of you, Morrigan._

There was no way back, however. She had decided to ignore the man’s outreached hand and had to see this through, pain or not. Suppressing a grunt of pain (a satisfaction she’d not give that arrogant fool) as the shoulder gave a stinging sensation, she stood up, glaring at the man.

“Who do you think...,” she started, but paused in midsentence as she laid eyes on the man’s face. “You!” she managed incredulously, recognizing the servant from the palace, the one who had carried her baggage on the very first day.

_The grumpy one. The one Etienne wanted to punish. What was his name?_

“Yes,” he simply replied, looking around as if to make sure Morrigan was the only one who could see him. “Will you live?”

“What?”

“Your wound. Will you live?”

“This? ‘tis but a scratch,” she lied, hoping that insulting the wound would somehow make it less painful. It didn’t work.

“Good, then I suggest you do your little bird trick and be gone as quick as possible. Like you should have done in the first place.”

“You dare...” Again Morrigan interrupted herself (what an annoying habit this was becoming!) as the words sunk in.

_He knows. He knows that I am more than just a noblewoman from Alyons._

“Who are you?” she asked coldly.

“That is of no importance. The important thing is...”

“’tis of importance for _me_. Do not take me for a fool. I am well aware how suspicious ‘tis of you to show up here at this very moment.”

“Good for you. It would have done even you more good to be aware of the curiosity of a _templar_ showing up here at this very moment, though,”

“Your name. Now.”

He sighed. “Lady Rione, I am not your enemy. My name is Pierre and I am here because I was fairly sure that Her Radiance would not be too happy if one of her little mage friends would come to an untimely end while sneaking around the city in the night.”

_Celene? Is he one of hers as well?_

“And now, Madame, we best be gone. So: Can you do your bird thing?”

Reluctantly, Morrigan nodded. As infuriating as this was, the man was right. Someone must have heard the noise and being found here at the scene of a fight would not do her any good.

“Good. Then I suggest you do that,” Pierre said, turning around.

“And what will you do, I wonder?”

“Well, I do not have wings, do I? I will go the other way. It is best when we’re not seen together at all.” He turned around and gave her one last glance, all seriousness. “Do not talk to me when you see me at the palace. If I am not mistaken, you do have a quite resourceful opponent here. You need to be more careful, Lady Rione.”

Morrigan had a reply at the ready, but never came to utter it. In a flash, Pierre had disappeared in the shadows, leaving her alone again, her thoughts racing.

_‘A quite resourceful opponent’?_

The words echoed in her mind. During the fight everything had happened far too quick, but now a realization dawned on her. The bandits had not been a coincidence – especially considering that they had a templar among them.

_‘...it would be_ such _a shame if after your defeat – and we both know that you will lose – you’d find a few templars awaiting you outside the gates.’_

Alexiane’s words. They had seemed like an empty threat at that time. But if that woman was allowed to walk free most of the time, she obviously had influential friends or benefactors. Influential enough to send a templar after her at Alexiane’s bidding? It was possible.

And then a thought pierced through her mind like an icicle.

_They knew where to find me!_

For a moment, she felt panic rising, as she considered the implications. How much did they know about her nightly routines? How often had they followed her? How far? If they knew she was flying off to the Grand Cathedral, did they wonder why?

_Calm down. They cannot possibly know. As you noticed yourself, woman: You did not actually find her, remember? Even if they know about the Grand Cathedral – they would not know_ why _you are going there._

She nodded to herself. That was right. She had been a fool, indeed. These nightly trips were dangerous and she had been lucky that the only ones suffering any consequences had been her attackers. She could not risk any more of those.

_I was careless,_ she thought as she concentrated on the bird form, preparing to leave this place as she should have done minutes ago.

_But not anymore._

 

* * *

 

 

With a curse on his lips, the man named Pierre hurried through the nightly streets of Val Royeaux, careful to avoid any bright spots or places where he might run into anyone. No one to witness him. There had already been one encounter too much tonight.

_This was not how it was supposed to go!_

He tried to calm down, gather his thoughts, think clearly. Had he just made a mistake? His orders about the Lady Rione had been quite ambiguous. ‘Ignore her. If necessary, see that she does not come to harm – but do not interact with her. Never interact!’

_Well, I most certainly violated the last order._

But what else had he been expected to do? Just stand there when the woman was attacked? How else was he to ‘see that she does not come to harm’ in a situation like that? He had followed his instincts and hoped that this had been the right call.

_But was it? Did I need to engage?_

The situation had certainly looked dire, but who could say if Rione might have simply found a way out? From what he had been taught, templars could interrupt magic, nullify its effects – but not take it away for good. Not without the Rite of Tranquility. Maybe the woman would have been able to cast a spell a second later, making his interference entirely unnecessary...and risky.

_And maybe he would have killed her._

He was not sure whether that would have made matters worse. It was hard to determine what role – if any – the Lady Rione played in his employer’s plans. But possibly he had just compromised all of them.

The thought made him shiver. He had heard stories of the consequences. Whatever else, he most certainly would _not_ want to earn the ire of his employer.

_And neither does Lady Rione._

Whatever her plans were, Rione obviously had no idea about the forces at play here. There was much more to her conflict with Lady Alexiane than she could imagine. Who was she anyway? An interloper? Or a convenience? It was hard to determine.

And it was not his place to do so.

_All I have to do is report what took place here tonight._

He sighed as he hushed back into the shadows.

_...and hope I’ll survive._

 

* * *

 

 

“You got _distracted_?”

Someone else might have cringed at the sharpness in Celene’s voice. Briala did not. Instead the word itself just stung because of the shame that came along with it.

_Distracted_.

As if it wasn’t painful enough how that foolish young servant had turned up at the worst possible moment, all sweetness and smiles. Briala could have strangled him for that. Only that it wasn’t his fault. Young men in love did foolish things – and she herself had encouraged him to court her in order to keep up the appearance. But as a result, this nightly meeting in Celene’s bedroom was not nearly as pleasant as it should have been.

“I did my best to get rid off him without acting suspicious, but it was already too late.”

Yes, she had fobbed him off in a polite yet determined manner, claiming to have an errant to do. But by the time she had succeeded, the bird had already been long gone.

“So we are still blind as to where her nightly travels take her? That is…very unfortunate, Briala,” Celene said, emphasizing her irritation by using her full name.

Briala sighed. “We _may_ know something soon enough. If my man is successful in following her.”

It had been a contingency plan. Briala would have preferred it to go after the witch woman herself, but just in case she had also sent one of her most reliable men when it came to scouting after Morrigan. Hopefully, he hadn’t gotten himself distracted just as easily as herself.

“He better be! I doubt I will have to remind you of the potential implications of a woman – who might join my court – stealing away each night for reasons unknown.”

It took Briala an effort to not just snap back at Celene – an action which most likely would achieve nothing but make matters worse.

_No, Celene, you do not have to remind me! Especially considering that_ I _was the one who warned you about it in the first place._

She had informed Celene about her fears the moment it had become clear that Morrigan was leaving the palace in secret at night. What could she possibly go after? Was she meeting someone? And if yes, who?

_‘Have you considered the possibility that she in someone else’s pocket?’_

_‘You mean…as a spy?’_

_‘Why not? You know Gaspard tries his best to get his eyes and ears at your court. A new advisor sounds like an excellent chance to plant someone close to you.’_

_‘Her? It seems like a stretch…’_

A stretch. Celene’s exact words. And now that the task of finding out where the witch was flying to at night had not yielded any results, she suddenly acted as if _Briala_ had been the one dismissing the potential threat! She loved Celene with all her heart, but sometimes her tendency to act like an Empress with _her_ as well – all-knowing and infallible – could be infuriating. Had she already forgotten that it had been Briala who had warned her of the whole thing? And that it most definitely was _not_ Briala’s fascination with the dark and occult that had lead to secretive and ominous women showing up, hoping to join the Empress’ service?

_That’s your obsession, not mine! If it were up to me, I’d just sent them both back to where they came from!_

“I have trust in him,” Briala simply stated, staying on topic and not giving the faintest hint of her irritation. She knew when to keep her mouth shut.

“We do not have much time, Bria. Vivienne will return in a week – until then I must have my advisor!”

Once more, Briala resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This again! It really made no difference if Celene had already instated an advisor before the Court Mage returned from her journey to Nevarra or after: Lady Vivienne would protest either way.

_But it makes a difference to_ her _._

That was the truth of the matter. Of course Celene knew as well that Madame de Fer would be outraged by the prospect of another magical advisor at court, _especially_ given the delicate nature of said advisor. Celene was aware of that and she had no intention to shy away from the confrontation with Vivienne. The reason why she wanted to name her advisor beforehand was purely symbolic.

It was a display of power. While the position of Court Mage had always been a title without meaning, Lady Vivienne had managed to fill it with actual influence. Instating another magical advisor – above all: one with less conventional fields of expertise – without both, Vivienne’s knowledge _and_ consent, was a statement on Celene’s behalf.

_‘I am the Empress and I do as I please. You may have gained some relevance here at my court, but remember that you are_ not _irreplaceable.’_

Yet, again this was not Briala’s problem. She was not the one seeing any need for yet another mage close to Celene.

“Well, then maybe you should consider the possibility to play it safe and not choose the woman who flies away each night,” she simply stated.

Lady Alexiane was boring, yes, but she was less likely to be a problem than the witch. In the talks Briala had witnessed, Morrigan had often acted complacent, disdainful and stubborn. Celene found that fascinating and refreshing – for now. But that was something she’d grow tired with soon enough. And Briala would be the one who would be forced to deal with her mood swings whenever Celene got annoyed with her witch…

Celene shook her head. “I will decide that once I have enough information. For all we know, that woman might just meet up with some whore and try to keep that a secret. She would hardly be the first person in the history of the Imperial Court to do so.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, your task is to get me that information. And soon.”

“I expect a report from my agent in the early morning.”

“Good. If you cannot get me that information, Bria, I will need to collect it myself.”

_Ah, and how are you going to do that? Asking her nicely?_

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

Celene grimaced. “Do not ‘Your Radiance’ me, Bria.”

“Yes, Your Radiance,” Briala replied with an impish smile.

Celene didn’t smile.

_This is going to be a long night._

* * *

 

Morrigan entered the building in human form. She could have come back the way she left, by flying into the open window of her own room, but she had decided against that. She had flown as far as the garden before the guest quarters, but _shifted_ before it. Going the last steps in human form – that was something she needed to do.

Her shoulder was still throbbing with pain from the open wound. Morrigan had never been too apt when it came to healing, but still her abilities would have sufficed to get rid of this wound. But not now. Something else that just needed to be like this. Oh yes, she would heal it once she was back in her room, but right now she _needed_ the wound. And the blood soaking through her clothes.

_‘tis a reminder for myself. For the consequences of being careless._

It was also something she needed _her_ to see.

She had been panting from the exhaustion of flying in her current state when she arrived but now, as she climbed the stairs, she felt utter calmness and determination.

_Let her see._

She passed the door to her own room on the left and went further down the corridor, no soul to be seen at this time of night. At the end of the corridor she turned to the right and focused on the door she was going for.

_Let her see._

She knocked – once, twice, thrice. Her breath went calm.

It took a few moments until the door flung open, Lady Alexiane agitatedly glaring out. “Maker’s breath, who dares...”

She stopped the moment her weary eyes seemed to grasp who was standing before her. She was in her nightgown, obviously just woken up – shock reflecting in her face when she recognized Morrigan.

_No chance to hide your face behind a mask now._

“Surprised to see me, I suppose?”

“Lady Rione! But you are...”

“...not dead? Indeed so. How very unexpected of me.”

“I do not understand,” Alexiane rambled, her voice just a tiny bit too high to hide her lie. Her eyes sprung to the stain of blood on Morrigan’s shoulder, widening. “What has happened to you?”

It was a pathetic attempt to buy herself some time, of course. A few precious seconds to regain her balance. Morrigan would not give her that.

“Let us not waste any time of this charade,” Morrigan leaned forward, her eyes intent, “I came here because I have two messages for you. The first one is from the three men in your service that I might have run into...coincidentally tonight.”

“I do not know what you are talking about! I do not have any men in my service,” she protested, her gaze jumping around in panic.

_She fears I might kill her on the spot. Good._

“That is right. You do not have _anymore_. That would be the message: they have left your service...for good.”

Their gazes locked and Morrigan could see realization in Alexiane’s eyes. And fear.

She allowed herself a wicked triumphant grin.

“What is the second message?” Alexiane asked, staring at her, her body tensed, unsure if an attack was imminent.

“Well, the second message would be from me,” she fixated the woman, cold dominance in her eyes. “And ‘tis a simple one.”

Inside her blood was boiling at the thought of what had happened tonight, how close they might have gotten, how they might even have seen her flying from window to window, looking for what no one should ever know. But Morrigan’s face was stone, not the slightest hint of any emotion.

_No more mistakes._

She leaned a little further forward and almost whispered it: “Tonight, you have made a grave mistake, Lady Alexiane. One you shall regret dearly.”

For a few more seconds she stood absolutely still, bathing in Alexiane’s insecurity – and then she turned around abruptly. It was with great satisfaction that from the corner of her eyes she noticed how the sudden movement had made her cringe.

_Fear. Panic. Weakness._

“Rest well, Lady Alexiane,” she said jovially without looking back, “Tomorrow we shall play again.”


	4. Écart

* * *

****

“As I am sure you both are aware of, the Imperial Palace will hold a ball in two days. It goes without saying that I expect you to partake. So yes, you shall be present there. Also, I trust both of you to be absolute discreet when it comes to the reason for your current stay. This may not be the great Summer Ball, yet it is an event of importance...”

Morrigan only listened with one ear as Celene went on. It would be enough to memorize the important facts after all. She had gotten used to very few relevant facts being covered in many words, both pompous and hollow. So, instead of listening to every little word the Empress used to emphasize what had already been said she let her eyes wander around the Celene’s study.

First there were the servants, curiously once more _without_ Briala among them. While the handmaid had been ever present in the earlier meetings, Morrigan had not seen her in the past few days. A coincidence? Or an important detail, connected to her curious little inquiry to Etienne on the day of the assault? 

_The assault._

Her gaze landed on Alexiane, who in turn had her eyes fixed on Celene. She seemed calm and composed today, other than during the last few days when her body language had betrayed her nervousness whenever Morrigan was near. That and the fact that, after that night, she had not even made an attempt to deny her involvement in the attack made her guilt obvious. Morrigan had seen it in her eyes.

Today, at last, she seemed to have found her self-control again. She had even been able to return Morrigan’s gaze earlier today.

_‘tis not too hard, though, if you can hide yourself behind a mask._

Of course, Alexiane and Celene both wore their masks at this little meeting. So did the servants.

_And everyone else...except I._

Morrigan smiled. It was delightful how much strength she could draw from the simple fact that in a world of masks, she was the only one who refused to hide her face. Oh, she had been offered one on more than one occasion – and Celene had been curious why she decided against it.

_Because I shall not hide anymore._

For years after the Blight she had stayed in the dark, wandering between the worlds, evading the woman who would sooner or later find her again, Morrigan was not having any illusions about that. But then, when that foolish Dalish girl in Kirkwall had finally revealed that she had witnessed – no: initiated – Flemeth’s resurrection, her greatest fear being confirmed to be very real...the urge to hide had suddenly vanished. The truth was out, the inevitable fact that she _would_ meet her mother again no longer in doubt.

_And no mask may protect me from that._

Oh, of course there were secrets to be kept. Morrigan held many ancient ones, more than the two other women could possibly fathom – and one very personal and dangerous for both, her and Leliana. But mask or not, they would not be able to pry any of those from her.

Also, she could tell how looking at her face directly made Alexiane uncomfortable – and that alone was glorious.

“...I should also point out that shortly after the ball, I will make my decision known and name my advisor.” Celene’s words drew Morrigan out of her thoughts. The Empress was wearing blue today, a quite elegant blue of course. She had made a pause for effect – and it worked. Morrigan noticed from the corner of her eyes that Alexiane stiffened a little after those words. And even though she did (hopefully) not give anything away, the news did have an effect on Morrigan as well.

_Well, the day was bound to come._

Unfortunately that left little time. Little time to deal with this. To deal with _her_. She turned to Alexiane again.

_I will destroy you._

She had vowed that in the night of the assault. Alexiane had made this personal. _Very_ personal. Not only by trying to end her life, but much more by almost getting close to uncover what should never ever be known. That called for a lesson.

_I shall see you fall._

No, it would not be a plump and pathetic assassination attempt such as Alexiane’s. Morrigan would see this woman humiliated, shamed and disgraced beyond recovery before this was done.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t exactly an easy task as long as she couldn’t be sure of who all the players were and when to watch her back. To learn about her nightly travels, Alexiane would need to have spies of her own – an uncomforting thought.

Up until then Morrigan had only considered Celene’s spies. Briala was most certainly one of them, but beyond that? The man named Pierre _could_ be Celene’s as well, but who could say for sure? Morrigan had not been able to spot him anywhere at the palace since the assault, which made him either very effective or much less important than he had seemed that night.

Anyway, since he had most likely saved her life, there was no reason to believe that he could have been the one following her on Alexiane’s behalf. But who else could have given her the information then? Etienne? Morrigan had suspected him to be in Celene’s pocket as well, but she wasn’t so certain anymore. Sure, it was curious how after their little talk about Briala, the handmaid had suddenly disappeared from all of their meetings – but was that proof for anything? Couldn’t he in fact work for Alexiane?

“...in the past days I have learned a lot about you and while both of you could be valuable assets at court in terms of knowledge, there is still the matter of trust and confidence.”

_Now that is curious._

Celene’s words made Morrigan sit up and take notice. The Empress let her gaze shift between her and Alexiane, putting ever more weight onto the last words.

“In the next two days, I shall pay special attention to all that and determine whose loyalty might be enough to justify a position as delicate as this one.” Celene’s face was cold and emotionless when she delivered the words – the Empress of Orlais speaking, not the woman Celene.

_That is the key. I need to convince the Empress that Alexiane must not be trusted._

“For now, you may leave. We shall talk more later...in private”, Celene waved her hand dismissively, ending this meeting without a shadow of a doubt.

With a last glimpse at Alexiane Morrigan rose up, smiling.

_I shall see you fall._

  

* * *

 

 

“’tis such a beautiful day, is it not?”

Not without satisfaction, Morrigan noted how Alexiane did flinch at the comment.

_Nervous, are we not?_

Admittedly, it might just have been an act of surprise – nobody really expected to be addressed like that when passing the statues in the Palace Garden; realistic and life-like as they might be, they were generally not the chattiest company. But still: seeing that woman flinch _was_ amusing.

Either way: Alexiane recovered her poise quickly enough. “Oh, Lady Rione. You did startle me there for a moment.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, indeed! Lurking around like that is not considered very lady-like, you know.” She raised her hand towards her mouth, pretending she had just blurted out something she didn’t mean to. Yet another little act, naturally. “Oh, but I forgot. Maybe you did _not_ know? It is so hard to tell with you people.”

“Well, well, ‘tis good to see how your fancy little sense of supremacy seems to have resurfaced. As has your skin color. How pale you have been these past days...or was that just a reaction whenever you happened to see me?”

_I did make you nervous, did I not? But why not today?_

Alexiane chuckled softly as she moved on, not even looking at her. “Oh, I was just under the weather, I suppose. Nothing a night of good rest could not help out with. How have _your_ nights been, by the way? Calm and peaceful? Alone in your chamber, yes?”

“Indeed. Such dull nights for those trying to spy on me, wouldn’t you say?”

Morrigan was not entirely certain if Alexiane had any people watching her at the moment or decided to be more careful, but to be on the safe side she had not taken the risk of new nightly journeys...

Alexiane let out another obviously faked chuckle. She really did seem more confident and composed today. Not exactly a good sign. “Oh, my dear Lady Rione, how would _I_ know?”

“You do not? Running out of lackeys and cutthroats already then? How disappointing.”

Alexiane’s chiming laughter made the two servants crossing their path reconsider and hush away in the other direction. As quickly as possible.

“Oh, Lady Rione! I shall miss this when all is done. Those little accusations of yours – as unfounded as they are adorable. Your entertaining attempts at acting as if you were playing the Game. All the effort you put into the hopeless endeavour to rise above what you are. I shall remember our time together here fondly.”

“How good for you then,” Morrigan replied icily as they entered the guest quarters together, “May those memories lighten up your days when you are back in that beloved Circle of yours.”

“I doubt I shall return there anytime soon, “Alexiane stated seemingly unfazed, “After all, you have heard Her Radiance today. It all comes down to loyalty and trust now. And let us not be honest here, Lady Rione: There is no way Her Radiance could possibly choose someone like you over a loyal Orlesian subject when it comes to this.”

Morrigan did not take her eyes from the woman as they climbed the stairs up to their rooms. “You seem very confident indeed...”

_...too confident. Careful, Morrigan._

“...and yet I wonder: Does Celene not have merely as many enemies _inside_ her Empire as outside?”

“Yes, I have heard this little peasant’s saying as well,” Alexiane stated in cold semi-amusement. Her lips formed a smile, but the eyes behind the mask proved that to be false once more. “If I were you I would not place all my hopes in that, Lady Rione.”

“I do not tend to waste _any_ of my time on wishes and hopes.”

“Good then,” Alexiane said. ”Because in a few days, when you finally see the folly in your attempt here, the templars will be waiting for you. And when they are done with you, you will not have any hopes and wishes left.”

They had reached the door to Morrigan’s chamber and Alexiane was about to move down the hallway to her own when she hesitated and turned around once more. Her voice was almost a whisper. “You know, I have changed my mind about something I said earlier. I _may_ return the White Spire after all – to pay you a visit. The mark will look lovely on your forehead.”

With that she turned around and went away, head held high.

Morrigan gritted her teeth, for a moment considering the option to end this here and now. A few years ago, she might just have.

_Not anymore._

The burning anger inside her veins had been part of her for most of her life – and had brought her little. The cold one inside her head was the key. Cool and calculating.

_Hot anger slays thugs and lowlifes. Cold one can make kingdoms fall._

Lady Alexiane would get what was coming for her. All Morrigan needed was a point of entry to move against her.

She opened the door to her room – just to realize that she wasn’t the only one who could startle people...

“Good day, Lady Rione. Please come in and close the door behind you,” said the figure. It was a woman’s voice, even if her appearance did not give that away at first glance. Her robes in dark red, embroidered with a touch of green were cut relatively wide, her face covered completely by a white mask. A round hat, seemingly wrapped in velvet covered the rest of her head and hair. Not much of a human being at all but a creature without a face or any other recognizable features. The embodiment of Orlesian discretion.

She was sitting on one of the comfortable chairs at the table next to the wall, so her request to close the door was somewhat off: No passersby in the corridor could possibly see her at this angle anyway.

The woman had taken the liberty of pouring herself a glass of wine though it seemed untouched. Morrigan briefly wondered if she actually intended to drink any of it, which would necessarily require her to lift the mask, or if this was just meant as a display of something she did not yet understand. And maybe never would.

_Orlesians..._

“Well, well, a stranger in my chamber,” she stated while closing the door, then moved toward the woman, showing no fear, “Certainly a curiosity. And who might you be?”

“Let us not waste time with what will undoubtedly happen now, Lady Rione. To make it short: I will claim that I have no intention to give you my name, which will – of course – not satisfy you. In return, I will add that my name does not matter in the least when it comes to why I am here.” The woman delivered her lines routinely and with the right amount of deliberate boredom that suggested she had been through this kind of talks often enough. “Naturally, you will scowl at that as well and ask why you should listen to me at all then. Quite possibly, insults or sharp-tongued remarks may also occur at that point. Now, after _that_ I will politely answer that you should hear me out because I may or may not be of the Council of Heralds.”

Morrigan stared at her motionlessly, briefly considering the possibility of saying something the woman had _not_ already prepared for, but decided to let that go for now. If she was who she claimed this conversation could turn interesting soon enough...

The woman nodded, possibly to herself. “I take your silence as a sign that you know what the Council is at least?”

“You were the people who raised Celene as Empress.”

“Well, that is correct,” the woman sighed and Morrigan would bet that she made a sour face behind that mask right now, “Though it was hardly a unanimous decision. Some of us would have...taken the alternative road back then. And some of us would rather prepare for the possibility that sooner or later that...mistake might still be corrected.”

_And you would be among those clever and farsighted individuals, would you not?_

The tone in the woman’s voice left little doubt about that. And it was no secret what – or better _who_ – this “alternative road” would be. It was common knowledge, even to rather enthusiastic disbelievers in the concept of ‘common knowledge’ as herself, that Gaspard de Chalons, Celene’s cousin, would have been the rightful Emperor due to some ancient and arbitrary rules of succession Morrigan refused to memorize (her tolerance for common knowledge ended right there).

“I see,” Morrigan commented dryly, “And you would have decided to visit me for that? The grand task the Council bestowed upon you is granting me a lecture in succession policy?”

“I have decided to visit you to make an offer.”

“Of course you have.”

“Let us for a moment consider the possibility of you becoming Her Radiance’s advisor, shall we? In that case you could be a valuable source of information for those who would...see the right path.”

Morrigan’s eyes widened.

_She wants me to spy for her? So that she could use that information to..._

“You are working for Gaspard,” she stated.

For a moment the woman just stared at her silently. Then, with a slightly irritated voice, she replied: “I told you, Lady Rione. I may be of the Council of Heralds. We do not work _for_ anyone _,_ save the Greater Good of the Empire, of course.”

_Oh yes...’the Greater Good’. A concept that has cost more lives in the history of mankind than any archdemon ever will._

“Of course. And tell me: What might I gain if I were to take part in that scheme of yours?”

The woman folded her hands in her lap and looked at Morrigan intently: “Well, if you were to see reason, I would be able to assure that you actually get _that_ position you crave. Permanently, I might add. And independent of who sits the throne.”

Morrigan chuckled. “’tis curious, you know? It just happens that I ran into Lady Alexiane a few minutes ago – who told me that she had that position all but in her hands already.”

_...and what a nice little coincidence that is..._

“Lady Alexiane tells you exactly what she is supposed to tell – just as she thinks what she is supposed to think.”

The words resonated in Morrigan’s head, giving her a warm shiver as realization dawned upon her.

 “She is working for you.”

The woman sighed. “I should have expected this. After all, I have heard that you were prone to unfounded accusations. They will not help you much here, Lady Rione. Keep that in mind. All I _am_ actually saying is that I can assure your position if you are willing to cooperate.”

_No. You are also saying that Alexiane will not be a problem. Because she is already in Gaspard’s pocket._

“And if I were to decline this...offer of yours?”

“That would be a grave mistake, Lady Rione,” the masked one stated calmly, “And why would you, anyway? What is Celene to you?”

_Nothing. But I did not come here to play politics either. And most certainly not to overthrow one foolish ruler for another._

Besides that Morrigan had always felt a certain aversion toward people who insisted on the idea that she might _need_ their help for anything. The truth of the matter was: Only once in her life had Morrigan really depended on someone else’s help – and this here was nowhere near Elissa Cousland taking care of a certain old hag for her.

“Celene is to me the same as you and your ‘alternative road’: nothing.” Morrigan smiled coldly. “Or, to use your own fancy words: I do not work _for_ anyone.” She skipped the ‘Greater Good’ part, for there was none she was working towards here. Just good old selfish reasons.

_But at least I stand by that._

For a moment there was nothing but silence. Then the woman rose up with a sigh. “You are making a mistake, Lady Rione.”

“I think not. You, however...well, it might be interesting to hear what the Empress has to say about a Council member wandering around, recruiting spies for the Grand Duke...”

It did not have the desired effect.

“Oh, Lady Rione, you still do not seem to understand how this works.” The figure just shook her head. “Do you expect she would believe anything you told her? And what would you say anyway? That you met a woman who might or might not be of the Council? I am sorry to disappoint you, but if you tried, you would find that there currently are _no_ female Council members in Val Royeaux. It just so happens that all of them have been out of the city for quite some time. And since they are all staying at some noble’s estate or another, I fear there are many, many eyewitnesses of rank that will contradict your little accusations.” She reached for the door, but turned around to look at Morrigan one last time. “Do not try to play the Game, Lady Rione. It takes much more than that.”

As the door closed behind her, Morrigan resisted the urge to bite her lip in anger.

_The last one was a mistake. You should have known better, Morrigan._

Trying to threaten the mysterious woman had been an unwise move. Naturally that one would have come with some cover prepared. The masquerade finally made sense: If her final words were true, she might have a double travelling around disguising as herself, so she could be seen wherever she wished to be seen.

_Or this one was actually the double._

The woman might have had the aura she would expect from a Council member, but that meant little. Bards were trained in that kind of thing. ‘I may or may not be of the Council of Heralds’ had been her exact words. Not much to go on.

Morrigan sighed and let herself fall down on the bed. Her feelings about this unexpected meeting were conflicted to say the least.

In a way it had been enlightening, yes. No doubt about that. Knowing that yet another player was at the table was not exactly something to bestow a cheery mood on her. _But_ better knowing that than being backstabbed. Besides, despite that confident display the woman had put up here, the timing was quite revealing: the mere fact that they would approach her now, shortly before the ball and Celene’s decision, to make an offer like that told Morrigan more than Gaspard and that mystery woman had intended.

_They are getting nervous. They fear that I could actually beat their little pet._

The woman might not have openly confirmed it, but this was another information Morrigan had drawn from the conversation – Alexiane was most certainly in league with that woman who worked for (or with) the Grand Duke. It was no mere coincidence that Alexiane would have found her own confidence just on the same day that this woman happened to appear in Morrigan’s room.

_They have told her that I am being taken care of. Though they probably have_ not _told her that I was to be recruited._

Morrigan wondered what would have been the plan if she had accepted the offer. Would they really have pulled Alexiane off? Or would they just have played her, Morrigan, instead – leading her to believe she would be chosen until it was too late?

She gritted her teeth as her thoughts turned toward the other side of the conversation. Despite the fact that she had learned quite a few bits today, the sad truth was: she had nothing to show. Running to Celene and telling her anything about this was just as hopeless as telling her about the nightly assault would have been. As both, Alexiane and the mysterious woman, had put it: unfounded accusations, nothing more.

‘Oh, is that so? I do have _your word_ on that? How very reassuring,’Celene’s words from a week ago reverberated in her ears.

_Because that is all I have: words. No proof, nothing substantial._

But then, suddenly, her eyes opened wide.

Yes, she had nothing to show.

Unless...

_...unless I can find something._

She jumped off of the bed, turning toward the window to the Palace Garden. Like a beast on the hunt, she was trying to make out her prey, hoping it had not escaped.

It had not.

If she was not entirely mistaken, the small figure close to the main building was none other than the mystery woman. A grin appeared on her face, as she opened the window, focusing on her inner Source.

And then she noticed another thing.

Right there in the shadow of one of the impressively large trees in the garden, she could make out two very familiar figures.

_Now this is curious..._

To the unfocused eye, Briala and Pierre might just be a man and a woman having an innocent little chat. But were they? Was it a coincidence that the man who had shown such a fortunate timing in showing up during the assault should be chatting with Briala of all people?

_Two servants chatting – or two spies bringing each other up to date?_

She shook her head violently, remembering what she had actually been about to do. Interesting as this little encounter was, the masked woman was more important right now. So she focused on finding her again...

...and gave a start when she heard the knocking at the door.

“Lady Rione?”

Etienenne’s voice. What did _he_ want?

Another knock.

“Lady Rione, you are summoned by Her Radiance. Please make yourself decent.”

Morrigan gave a silent curse.

_Now!_

Of all times, she was calling her _now_!

Her thoughts were racing, looking for a solution. Heeding the Empress’ call was something she needed to do, but it would mean losing her only trace. Following the mysterious woman, however, would mean _not_ following Celene’s summoning.

_I lose either way._

Another knock. Morrigan took a deep breath, cursed her bad luck...

...and made her decision.

 

* * *

 

 

 

As the masked woman approached the gates of the Palace, she fumbled in her well-hidden pocket of the wide dress, feeling for the letter. It was still there of course, but double-checking never did any harm.

She had come with two letters, one for either outcome of the talk with Lady Rione. The other one was no more. She had burnt it in one of the braziers in the main hall of the guest quarters – leaving no traces was important after all.

If it had been up to her she’d have probably preferred to send the message which was now only ashes. It would have been easier that way. Lady Rione might have been useful, after all. She had sensed a certain amount of intelligence in that woman, which might or might not have been put to good use had the woman been willing to cooperate.

Unfortunately the all too proud Lady Rione had made a poor decision, one she would regret sooner or later.

Maybe it was better this way.

Lady Alexiane might not be as clever (though she certainly considered herself that) as Rione, but she was loyal. Well, she had to be, considering that her own well-being depended on doing the right thing.

_A somewhat duller but, at the end of the day, much safer ally._

Nobody paid her any attention as she passed the gate. It was quite fortunate that full disguises such as the one she was wearing right now were back in fashion at the moment. There were literally dozens of women clad similar, albeit a little more extravagant than herself. Nobody would remember her, nobody would even have noticed she had been here in the first place.

The messenger was waiting just a little outside the palace. He took the letter she pressed in his hand while passing by (never even looking at him) without a word and turned around. He would wait just long enough for her to be out of sight and then set off himself.

She sighed. Her part was done with that.

Before nightfall, the message would have been delivered and things would be set in motion. It would take little effort to make Lady Rione fall from grace. Intelligent she might be, but in terms of the Game she most definitely lacked experience. A simple play would be enough to ruin her in the eyes of the Empress. After the ball, Lady Alexiane would be where she was supposed to be. And Lady Rione would be forgotten as so many before her who had overplayed their hands.

The masked lady did not even turn around once as soon as she was on her way.

Hence she did not notice the raven in the tree.

 

* * *

 

 

Morrigan waited with curiosity. Not actually nervous, of course. Not that.

_One..._

It usually took a moment. A moment that might be crucial, depending on how self-aware the victim was.

_Two..._

The messenger’s head softly leaned forward as he dropped asleep in mid-movement. No sign of defiance.

_Good. ’twas time_ something _worked out for me without complications today._

Few people could resist the sleeping spell of course. But some might feel it creeping up on them and panic, realizing something was amiss in the moment before it hit them. They would be aware when they woke up, remember they had struggled against the sleepiness.

_Not this one._

Morrigan rushed toward the man from her hideout between one of the statues (Statues! Did they never get enough of them?) in front of the Palace’s main entrance. She had to be quick if this was supposed to happen unnoticed.

Rather skilfully (she took a moment to congratulate herself on that) she fished the letter out of his vest pocket. Carefully, she broke the seal, pulling out the piece of paper in it. As it turned out, the writer was not in the mood to waste many words...

_‘Will not cooperate. Has to be the other one. Proceed.’_

Morrigan frowned, a silent curse on her lips as she read it a second time, carried by the faint – and, naturally, pointless – hope that she might have overlooked anything.

_Blasted, that is nothing._

Well, the part that it had ‘to be the other one’ was the final confirmation that Gaspard or his Council woman were indeed using Alexiane, but that was old news...

_...and it does not prove anything._

No names.

No context.

Morrigan knew what it meant, of course, but this was not something she could present to Celene or any of her spies as proof of the plot Alexiane was part of.

_Blasted._

For a brief moment she considered the option of just taking the thing and burning it. Let the messenger reach his goal without the message. Create chaos among the conspirators.

_Think! If he returns without a message, they will know she failed at convincing you of anything._

Of course, they would know the very same thing if the message reached them. But at least that way, they did not know _Morrigan_ knew.

No, if she alarmed them by destroying the message, all she would achieve would be to make them even more careful, making whatever was meant by ‘Proceed’ a much more elaborate plan.

With a sigh, she put the piece of paper back in and reached for the Source inside her, directing a tiny bit of Fire into her fingers and onto the wax of the seal. It was a delicate thing and it did not look perfect when she was done – but it would be good enough. Nobody would suspect that it had been opened, at least.

She put the letter into the messenger’s vest pocket and moved back behind the statue closest to the gates. After all, there was one more thing she could try: follow the messenger. Find the players behind this and maybe some piece of actual evidence.

Her timing was impeccable: Just a few moments later, the messenger shook his head as he woke out of what he might think of a moment of distraction. A daydream maybe. Nothing worthy of note. He quickened up his pace a little.

_Back to work, young man. Do lead the way!_

Morrigan smiled.

She reached for her inner Source again, ready to _shift_...

“Lady Rione? Is that you?”

Morrigan spun around as a soft voice behind her rang in her ears...and she faced an elven woman.

_Her! Cursed, where did_ she _come from?_

With the demeanour only befitting for a servant, Briala looked at her. The composure was perfect: insecure, humble, and demure. Everything suggested this was a poor servant woman, shyly approaching one of the highborn ladies.

Her eyes didn’t.

“I do apologize. I did not mean to startle you,” she said.

(‘What _are_ you doing here?’ asked her eyes.)

“I –“ Morrigan started, not really knowing what she was going to say. “I was...just going for a stroll.”

“Ah, of course, yes. A stroll.”

(‘I don’t believe a word you say.’)

There was a moment of silence as both of them were considering what to say next, where to lead this conversation.

“But, what is it _you_ might be doing here?” Morrigan finally brought out. It had sounded more confident inside her head than it did from her lips.

“I...I was just on an errant into the city when I saw you...and remembered that Her Radiance is looking for you. I...I do apologize,” she said, her cheeks visibly blushing (yet another perfect display), “...but I thought you might want to know that she has asked for you.”

(‘Celene is looking for you, woman! Go there now!’ her eyes stated)

For a moment, Morrigan could only stare at her helplessly.

Of course, she knew that there was no other option now. After all, she could hardly shift into a bird, fly after the messenger and hope to get away with that.

_Accursed woman!_

She had shown up right at the worst moment _(Yet another strange coincidence, is it not?)_ , leaving Morrigan no other choice but to abandon her hunt – or disregard the Empress’ summons for a second time today...right at the presence of her handmaid. She might get away with the first one – after all, for all Etienne had noticed, Morrigan hadn’t even been in the room when he knocked – but not with this.  

“Oh,” Morrigan squinted, not even trying to fake ignorance, “I had no idea. I shall be on my way then.”

“Yes, if you please,” Briala made a curtsy, but her eyes stared right into Morrigan’s, just as if she wasn’t almost a head smaller. “So should I.”

Again, there was a brief moment of silence, only the two of them staring at each other, waiting for the other one to react.

_She knows. She knows that I am aware of what she is._

In the end, Briala was the first one to turn away.

Of course. Just like it befit a servant in the presence of a lady.

The perfect charade.

For a moment, Morrigan just stood there and watched her go to her alleged errant in the city. Then she took a deep breath.

_I hate this place._

 

* * *

 

 

“A stroll? You kept me waiting because you were taking a _stroll_?”

Morrigan did her best to keep her face straight, not showing the surprise at Celene’s tone. Compared to that cold and calm voice she had gotten used to, this was almost an outburst by Celene’s standards. She must have been irritated or frustrated with Morrigan dozens of times in the past days (most people were after a few minutes...) but for the first time she let actual anger show up in her voice.

_Well, let her be. I have other matters to deal with than that woman’s mood._

“I was unaware your summons would happen so soon after our little meeting with Lady Alexiane,” Morrigan stated simply, returning her gaze.

_Do not blink. Do not give her that satisfaction._

“And so you decided to walk off?”

“’twas a stroll, _Celene_ ,” Morrigan retorted, emphasizing on calling the Empress by her actual name. It was a statement inside the statement, of course – and Morrigan felt that woman needed exactly that. “I did not even leave the palace.”

“Oh, what a _relief_ , no? So it did not have the quality of your little excursions by night, I take it?”

This time she did blink.

Twice.

The eyes behind the mask stared at her coldly, but it wasn’t that, what made her flinch. It was the sudden unexpected bluntness with which the Empress had thrown her awareness of Morrigan’s trips at her. No subtlety at all. She really _was_ angry...

_Don’t let her get to you. You already suspected that she knew._

Reminding herself of that helped a bit. The directness had taken her off-balance, and yet that was exactly why the Empress had chosen it. Being skilled in the arts of rhetoric was her craft, after all.

“What I do by night is not of your concern, Celene.” A bit harsh maybe, but Morrigan was getting tired of this.

“Oh, it is not? _You_ are telling me now what my concerns should be? When a woman who wishes to enter my service suspiciously leaves the palace by night, I cannot help but wonder whom or what she might seek out.”

“A woman of my craft meets many creatures none should hear of,” Morrigan replied. Playing the ‘occult and mysterious’-card usually worked fairly well with the Empress – it reminded her of why she had been interested in Morrigan in the first place. Let her think that Morrigan was meeting forbidden contacts, dangerous mages or demons, for all Morrigan cared. It would make her all the more fascinating to the Empress.

At least she had hoped that.

“Yes, and there are ‘creatures’ in this city with good manners and sharp daggers – some of them regular guests at my dinner-table, yet without a doubt making plans to hunt me off this throne by all means necessary. And you are trying to tell me, the chance that it might be one of _them_ you might happen to visit by night is something that is not my concern?”

“’tis a ridiculous notion.”

“Pardon me?” Sharp. Irritated. Angered. “Did you just call my concerns ‘ridiculous’?”

“Yes,” Morrigan barked, “Yes, I did, _Your Radiance_. If harming you was my intention, you would have been dead on the very night I came to you.”

_That should do it._

It did not.

“ _That_ is your reasoning, Lady Rione? The fact that you did not try to assassinate me the first time we met shall be proof of your trustworthiness? You cannot possible be that naive.”

For a moment, she just stared at Morrigan, before she added, “Go.”

“Am I dismissed then, Your Radiance?”

“No. You are done, Morrigan.”

Morrigan’s eyes widened, flabbergasted at – for the first time for weeks – hearing her real name. And by the implications that came along with it.

“You mean-”

“Yes. Get your luggage and go. I shall expect you to be gone within the hour.” With that she turned around.

For a moment, Morrigan just stood there and faced the Empress’ back incredulously.

A part of her wanted to go. Accept that this had been a bad idea from the start. Give that arrogant woman a piece of her mind (surely a talk Celene would never forget).

_Let her have it her way! Let her take in Gaspard’s puppet and see how that turns out! Why should you care?_

She did not owe Celene anything. That woman had let her in under a false noble name, but treated her like a commoner when it was _actually_ the Empress who wanted something of _her_. There was no good reason she should stay here.

That was what a part of her claimed, quite rightfully.

And then there was the part that, well...the part that just stood there and faced the Empress’ back incredulously.

“Is there something else, Morrigan?”

Celene’s words seemed to come from afar, from a world that Morrigan had long decided she hated. A world that held no connection to her.

_Yes,_ is _there something else, Morrigan?_

“I...I...,” she heard her own voice stammering. The other part of her wanted to scream at the Morrigan that was stuttering instead of standing tall, wanted to tell herself she should just tell the Empress what an ignorant fool she was and how she and her whole pathetic Empire could burn in its own ignorance for all she cared.

But that would not beat this woman.

Why? Because it was the hot anger talking.

_‘Hot anger slays thugs and lowlifes. Cold one can make kingdoms fall’,_ she reminded herself.

Yes, she could shout that woman down. Yes, she could leave this place without any consequences. Yes, she could go and be rid of it all.

And all of that would also mean: admitting defeat.

This whole world was one that she had been taught to hate and despise. And despise it she did: its decadence, its ignorance, its hubris. Mankind’s megalomania to think that all this Imperial nonsense actually mattered, not even remotely aware that the world held so much more, purer treasures than humankind would ever understand. It was a world of pettiness.

_And yet, I have been drawn towards it ever since a little girl from the Korcari Wilds stole a golden hand mirror from a noblewoman’s carriage so long ago._

Yes, Flemeth had done everything to keep her in isolation, far away from civilization. She had taught her all about the triviality of this world of mirrors, about its mortality – about its pointlessness. Morrigan knew all that. She knew about other...places. Paths few would ever wander, roads she would walk alone for not even Leliana might accompany her there.

And still: Ever since that fateful day with the golden hand mirror, she somehow knew that she would never be able to stay entirely away from that petty little triviality that was civilization.

Then, one day, the Wardens had arrived – and things had finally been set in motion that could not be stopped.

“Yes?” she heard Celene’s voice from afar again.

Yes, she might tell herself how ridiculous this whole charade was. What a pathetic display of foolish ignorance the court and the Game really were.

She might even convince herself of all that.

But she also wanted to _win_ this.

It was as simple as that. All of this might have started as a means to protect Leliana, but – as she surprisingly noticed – a few moments ago Leliana had entered her thoughts for the first time since the ambush. After that, other thoughts had preoccupied her head. Maybe this was how the Game drew you in. Either way, during the past few days everything had been dominated by one notion: the sheer will to not be outplayed, to not admit failure and defeat.

No, she would _not_ submit to the likes of Alexiane, Gaspard, the masked woman...or Celene for that matter.

_And in order to do that, I need to submit to Celene._

It sounded ludicrous even in her head and it did not make any logical sense. But that’s how it was done.

“...I spoke out of turn,” she admitted, her voice finally becoming her own again.

There was a little pause before Celene turned around again. “And...?” she demanded mercilessly.

Morrigan closed her eyes, took a deep breath and went to the hardest part.

“I do apologize,” she lowered her head, “Your Radiance. And I beg your pardon.”

A part of her screamed with hot rage, but it was an old part. It was the young woman, who had been too full of herself, too convinced that she already knew everything, too _ignorant_. That young woman might have ended as a new vessel for Flemeth if not for utter luck and the Warden’s timely arrival.

_Never again shall I let my arrogance cloud my judgement like that._

Celene looked at her and despite the mask, despite the face that was _like_ a mask, Morrigan saw something in her eyes. Not satisfaction, as she had expected to.

Genuine surprise.

“So,” Celene stated slowly, “It would seem you are not an entirely lost cause after all.”

Morrigan only nodded, unwilling to undo her apology by a comment that was already on her lips.

“Good. I expect you to be in my reach whenever I summon you from now on. To stay in your chamber at night.”

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

_...if possible._

Celene nodded approvingly. “And I shall expect the Lady Rione to be a polite and well-behaved guest at the ball.”

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

_I might also need to do be less behaved when you cannot witness it, but we shall see about that._

“Good,” Celene simply said and turned toward the window again. “You may go then, Lady Rione.”

Morrigan took a deep breath and went for the door.

This had hardly gone well. Despite the knowledge she had gained, today had cost her more than she had gained, possibly a lot of favor from Celene.

_But I am still in the Game._

She smiled at that. Against all odds, she was still doing something, no one thought she could possibly succeed at. Alexiane and her ‘friends’ would still consider her little more than a nuisance, an amusing little peasant at a table of nobles. Flemeth would laugh at the mere idea of Morrigan trying to fit in. Even Leliana would only mildly smile. ‘Oh, I know you, Morrigan...’, she would say (how Morrigan hated the ‘I know you’s – mainly because she was usually right with those...), ‘This really is not your field.’ Well, she certainly would be right about that.

Which was going to make the victory all the more sweet.

_Because I shall prove you all wrong._


	5. Riposte

* * *

 

“Oh, splendid, splendid!”

Alexiane’s high-pitched, clear laugh could be heard annoyingly well even despite the background noise in the giant ballroom, which must have been filled with hundreds of people.

_Or maybe I am just imagining that._

Maybe Morrigan’s ears were just too fixated on that woman’s infuriating laughter that it seemed louder than it truly was. Still...

Celene had asked them to act ‘well-behaved, but subtle’ and to ‘not draw unnecessary attention’ to themselves. It would appear that Alexiane’s and Morrigan’s definitions of subtlety differed a great deal indeed.

While Morrigan was trying her best to stay in the background, Alexiane was _very_ present, obviously making a point of demonstrating how seamlessly she fit in with the attendant Orlesian nobility, chatting cheerfully, laughing at the most mundane statements.

_And everything is ‘splendid’..._

It was one of those words that were only used by a certain kind of people. Morrigan had tried it out in one of the earlier conversations tonight and it just felt plain wrong when it came out of her mouth.

‘Splendid’ was just not a part of your world when you grew up in a hut.

She sighed and took another careful sip from the glass of wine and let her eyes wander for a while. The ballroom was – and Morrigan had a hard time admitting that – a glorious sight. Seldom had she seen a piece of interior architecture that had actually left her in awe, at least not one that had been created by _humans_ and was not a long-forgotten structure from ages ago.

The ballroom was huge, naturally, but both the elaborately decorated high ceiling and the high walls brilliantly lit by the fire of ornate bronze braziers did not make a point of their size, but of absolute elegance. The gallery above, which held the small orchestra, was as big as many an inn’s taproom.

And of course there were the people.

Morrigan could not remember when she had last seen such a number on one spot – or _if_ she ever had, for that matter. Even now that the ball had been going on for two hours and not everyone was gathering in the ballroom anymore –most of those who had left the room were likely to stroll around and mingle or have some ‘private conversations’ in other parts of the Palace – there was still an enormous crowd here, talking, laughing, drinking. The number of those actually dancing had become smaller, something Morrigan had always pictured differently, especially considering Leliana’s filigreed and overexcited stories about such glamorous events.

But glamorous it was without question. The crowd inside the hall was an ocean of color and glitter – fanciful, elegant or plainly daring dresses combined with pale white or richly ornate masks, each of them belonging to someone who considered him- or herself more important than the next one.

_And she is bathing in that ocean._

Alexiane was a natural when it came to charming the guests. And tonight she made an effort to show it, fully aware that Celene (or more likely one of her spies) was paying close attention and realizing just what an excellent addition to the court she would make. How many loose proposals of marriage might she have gotten already?

_More than six, naturally._

That had been the number Morrigan herself had scored tonight – and she had not been particularly adamant to provoke this kind of talk. Not at all.

Still, it had not been possible to avoid it happening entirely. This was a ball after all and thus as much a public exhibition of young men and women of noble birth yet to be matched as it was an arena of schemes among the nobility. So Morrigan had come to expect suitors to show up sooner or later – and the way they (or more often: their respective mothers, aunts or whatever relatives were at hand) had been making their interest known had once more confirmed her notion of Orlais and its nobility in particular. It was all surface. Well-decorated, but superficial. That went double for the proposals tonight. Maybe a supposedly not-too-high lady like herself didn’t deserve a better effort in the eyes of her suitors, but: behind polite and fancy words there was little more than any man in a common tavern might show when bluntly attempting to woo the next best pretty girl he could find.

Well, except maybe that man might not send his mother to do the job.

It had been simple conversations but still Morrigan had made an effort to spot possible traps when being asked about her supposed origin and parentage. Ever since she had arrived at the palace, she had read enough about Alyons in the library to get through the average superficial conversation. That only left room for possible minor inconsistencies, information that they could not possible verify right here. She wasn’t worried about those.

Nor were the suitors any problem. Yes, one or two of the six _might_ actually want to follow up on the idea at a later point – but those were in for a little surprise when they would learn that the young lady, who they had been chatting with at this ball, had in fact never been real.

It would not be her problem then because – for better or worse – tomorrow Lady Rione d’Alyons would cease to exist. Either she would become Lady Morrigan, the advisor the Empress had miraculously pulled out of her sleeve and presented at court – or she would just be Morrigan…and probably mysteriously disappear.

Either way: Lady Rione was just here for one more night.

She sighed again, considering the price she had paid for that. In order to keep this up and not cause any complications if and when one noble or another recognized her at some later point, she was in fact wearing a mask tonight – a hideous ivory thing, barely adorned with silver bordures and a red feather. She hated the way it limited her vision, but there was little she could do about it, given that it had been Celene’s orders.

It made sense tonight, of course. Not only in terms of covering up all traces of her false identity, but also when it came to the here and now: This was only a minor ball, so there were little foreign guests – which meant that all but a few were wearing masks. Which, in turn, meant that those with uncovered faces were drawing attention, something Morrigan was specifically told to avoid.

_And here I am – doing as I am told. ._

It was a strange feeling, one that did invoke less than happy memories of her childhood. And even back then she had made a point of going _against_ orders.

Now she was acting as Celene’s pet, a fact she could only suffer temporarily.

_Patience. ‘tis not for long._

Indeed it was a mere necessity she had to accept for the time being and she took comfort in the prospect that once she had dealt with Alexiane and assumed her position she would find a way to reverse this pattern. Subtle, without Celene even noticing, the Empress would leave her advisor to do more or less as she pleased.

_Because ‘tis_ my _game._

The Orlesians might take pride in their little plots but when it came to manipulating people into acting as she wished, Morrigan had mastered the art in her own way long ago. As soon as she was in there, Celene would – step by step – start to play by her rules sooner or later.

Unfortunately, right now, tonight, she was on the Game whether she liked it or not.

_And ‘tis time to make my move._

The thought brought her back to reality, back to the ballroom. Back to Alexiane being too busy making friends to pay her any attention. Back to Celene being gone outside with a group of nobles from Halamshiral.

For a last time her eyes wandered around the hall, looking out for any of the people she suspected to be spies, but Briala was with her mistress, Etienne too busy actually working (as were all the servants it seemed) and Pierre wasn’t to be seen either, probably forced into some less glamorous work at the kitchen or in the stables.

She was aware of the fact that there might be others. But since she hadn’t identified any of those, she could do little more than keep her eyes open. As a larger group of guests streamed out into the vestibule, Morrigan took the chance to join them, hoping to be able to lose any potential followers.

It turned out to be surprisingly simple. Most of the guests in the group were in mid-conversation anyway, laughing at each other’s little jests or comments pointedly, too busy to keep up the appearance to actually take notice of her. As soon as she was out of the ballroom, she moved calmly from one group to the next, only staying for a few seconds, listening, laughing whenever it seemed appropriate – and moving on, ever on.

Now that she was able to wander around more freely, all she needed to do was to find a place where she was alone.

_And a window._

Getting out itself would not be a problem. After all, the palace had many little balconies and there was no shortage of windows. But finding a place where she could _shift_ unseen – that turned out to be a much more complicated task.

After walking up and down the corridors for a few times, frustration started to grow and Morrigan was fairly close to just return to the vestibule, seriously entertaining the notion of just leaving through the front door. There would be witnesses to take notice, yes, but once she was out, the number of options to find a quiet place would most certainly increase. If she was careful enough…

“Lady Rione?”

The voice came from not too far behind her and before she could decide whether there was a way to ignore it, the little man with the white-golden mask had already managed to step into her visual field. A servant, obviously.

Inwardly, she gave a silent curse. A distraction was the last thing she needed right now!

“Lady Rione! I am so relieved to find you,” the man stated, fortunately not too loud for half the palace to hear. Still there was the occasional head turning curiously in her direction. After all, you never knew what scandalous conversations you might miss if you did not listen in at the moment, right?

“What is it?”

“Lady Rione, pardon my intrusion, but if you would be so kind and follow me? An old friend of yours...heard you were present here tonight and asks for a meeting…,” he lowered his voice, “…in private if it pleases you.”

It did not please her in the least.

Instead she had to fight down a rising panic inside her. For the first time tonight she was thankful for the mask – it might at least hide her surprise on the outside.

_An old friend? Of mine?_

Being honest to herself, Morigan found it hard to actually come up with many people she might consider friends, let alone ‘old friends’. Which only left one far more disconcerting notion: could the man mean the actual Lady Rione? _Was_ there even an actual Lady Rione? Or was it someone who knew her secret? For a moment she considered simply asking, but the risk of that drawing even more attention seemed too high.

“Oh, that does sound… _splendid_ ,” she said, wishing the mask was large enough to cover her whole face because she was absolutely certain it must look wrong when she spoke that word out aloud, “But maybe my...friend can wait a little longer. I was just…”

“I do apologize, my lady, but he insisted. He said that it was very important as you well knew.”

_He?_

The gender of her ‘old friend’ confused her even more. Morrigan was on the brink of just stating that she could not think of any man she might consider a friend, but of course that would have been foolish – and not exactly something Lady Rione should state publicly if trying to avoid attention.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Even though she did not like this one bit, she was well aware that this conversation had not been very quiet as it was. Some guests must have heard and curiosity might lead them to listening in even further the more she tried to refuse going.

Besides that, another thought crossed her mind: What if this was not some sort of trap, but someone else reaching out to her? Maybe a certain man who had stabbed a templar to save her life a few nights ago had decided to contact her...

 “Ah, very well then,” she stated in what she hoped to be a jovial tone, “I was looking forward to this after all.”

Calmly, making a point of not looking around to see if someone was paying attention, she followed the servant down the hallway. Without any further words, he led her straight down the corridor which led right to what Morrigan knew to be Celene’s study. Or well: _a_ study. The palace had no shortage of those, almost as if any ruler had decided to make his or her very own because _of course_ it would not suffice to just use their predecessor’s. That would be an outrage, wouldn’t it?

The man escorted her right to the white double-door, where he came to a halt and made a bow, then grabbed the doorhandle, stepping back discreetly and waiting for her to go in.

As she entered the huge room, her eyes met a wall of bookshelves to the right and a desk of exquisite dark wood right in the middle of the room. The door closed right behind her even before she heard a deep voice from her left.

“Ah, the Lady Rione. I was looking forward to finally meet you in person, I must say.”

The room had a slight elevation with one single step to the left where a number of paintings, mainly portraits, on the wall framed a sitting corner consisting of two tables and four armchairs. It was one of these tables that was currently occupied by the man who, tactfully, raised from his chair the moment she entered and gave a small curtsy.

“Please join me for a glass of wine,” the man, who was most certainly not an ‘old friend’, stated in a conversational tone. He was a tall one, his clothes elegant and of the finest quality, but cut in a tight and formal fashion that suggested military accuracy. He wore a golden mask, emeralds set on it. His smile – at least the part that was not covered by the mask – was charming, yet far from cheerful.

No, definitely not a friend. But she _had_ seen him before. Everyone had. Because the display of polite friendship he and the Empress had publicly given at the introductions earlier tonight, had been hard to miss – especially since every single person in Orlais, from nobleman to lowest peasant, knew it to be fake.

 “Well, well. The Grand Duke Gaspard,” Morrigan stated slowly, deliberately refusing to return the obligatory curtsy. “To what do I owe the...pleasure, I wonder?”

_This is not good. What can he possibly want?_

“Oh, it is my pleasure, naturally,” he commented, fixated on indeed pouring that glass of wine he had been talking about. “I have heard...a lot about you to come to the conclusion that you and I might need to have a little conversation in person. Much more personal and productive than using an intermediary, is it not?”

Even though she managed to not show it, Morrigan was puzzled, not really certain what he was playing at. Did he really expect that a chat in person would yield any other results than the talk with his alleged ‘friend’ from the Council had?

“And just how productive do you expect this little conversation to be?”

Gaspard chuckled at no jest whatsoever, probably just to keep up the friendly appearance. “Oh, do relax Lady Rione, the outcome of this is entirely up to you,” he said, pouring the second glass.

“Even if that outcome should happen to be just leaving, then?”

Another chuckle. Of course.

_‘tis all a grand jest here. Until someone gets hurt._

“Even before you hear my offer? That would be rather rushed, wouldn’t you say? Why don’t we sit down so we can get to know each other a little better?” Gaspard raised a glass, contentiously taking a sip.

_No poison then. Still...be careful, Morrigan._

Slowly she walked towards the table. “And why would we want that? Getting to know each other a little better?”

“Well, because you seem to be interested in working for my dear cousin, are you not? I see it as my duty to know who serves at her side.”

_Of course you do._

As he handed her the glass and grabbed his own again, he continued in a polite, yet firm voice, “My dear cousin, our beloved Empress, might be holding up fairly well, but still she needs to be carefully looked after, don’t you think?” He raised his own glass, “This is a dangerous place after all.”

His eyes fixated her intently, letting the last words hang in the air for a moment before taking another sip. There was little doubt at whom this warning was really directed.

“How gracious of you,” Morrigan said icily, deciding to not go beyond that and unwilling to let something slip that could be turned against her. Instead she raised the glass herself, taking a very small sip.

“I am known for that. And for my generosity toward faithful allies, Lady Rione.” The Grand Duke took a seat, gesturing towards the armchair on the opposite side of the table. “But do enlighten me: What exactly is it you intend to do for my cousin? What kind of service do you offer?”

“For a man who speaks of offers and allegiances, information seems to be a rare good for you, Grand Duke.”

“Maybe you can help me understand and provide information then? Why don’t you take a seat and elaborate?”

Morrigan only stared at him, looking around. A pattern seemed to form.

_‘Join me for a glass of wine.’_

It really did not make any sense. Morrigan’s answer to the masked woman had been absolutely clear and unambiguous.

_‘You and I might have a little conversation in person.’_

It was not that she had even waited to hear the woman’s offer in full extend. There had been no discussions about terms or prices. Nothing that could lead him to the conclusion that her loyalty was something he could purchase if only the price was good enough.

_‘Oh, do relax Lady Rione.’_

There was literally nothing suggesting that he might gain anything from this conversation. So why were they talking? Unless...

_‘Why don’t you take a seat and elaborate?’_

...unless this wasn’t about the outcome of the conversation at all.

_‘tis about the conversation itself!_

She could feel her thoughts racing as everything started to make sense. All the empty words and phrases Gaspard was making. The offer of wine, of conversation – of a chance to explain herself. Of sitting down.

They did not _need_ her to cooperate! They just needed to destroy her credibility in Celene’s eyes. And if someone, say one of the servants or Celene’s trusted spies, just happened to stumble into this room right now...

_...they would see me in a private conversation with Celene’s adversary!_

It was a trap.

Feverishly, Morrigan’s eyes searched around the room, looking for something very specific. As she found it, her muscles relaxed instantly, her mind clearing. There it was again: the cold anger. The calculating one.

Morrigan smiled at Gaspard.

_‘twas a nice try, Grand Duke. And yet not good enough._

* * *

 

Etienne’s posture was perfect as he approached the white double-door. Straight, dignified and all the while suggesting that he would be ready to drop into a curtsy any moment. The perfect servant. Absolutely in control of himself.

None of it gave away how the blood was rushing in his veins, his thoughts racing. Calculating. Making himself ready for whatever waited behind the door.

‘The study,’ the voice had whispered into his ear. ‘Her Radiance will want to know.’

Naturally, when he had turned around, all he had seen was a large crowd of people. The crowd into which the whispering man had disappeared unseen. He had delivered his message and that was all there was.

_Obviously not one of Celene’s people._

It was the reason for the blood pumping right now.

If it had not been one of Celene’s men, he had to belong to another player – with very own reasons why the Empress should be aware of what was happening in the study right now. It could mean anything from a scandal to a distraction right up to a trap.

_And of course he would come to me with that information..._

He would have sighed right now but he couldn’t afford to. He had to be perfect.

Of course they would come to him. They always did. It was his destiny, being the _paon_ , after all – ‘the peacock’, the most obvious spy standing out for any skilled player of the Game. The first line of defense, drawing attention and hopefully making all the others harder to spot, including the spymaster. Well, some of the most daring players also made their actual spymaster _paon_ and thus extravagantly hid in plain sight. Celene didn’t.

And so it was his task to follow up on this and hold his head into whatever waited behind the doors.

_‘Her Radiance will want to know.’_

The words rang in his ears as he grabbed the door handle, taking a deep breath. He had a bad feeling about this. If someone who was not necessarily an ally told you that the Empress wanted to know something...well, chances were that whatever he might find would be bad news.

He pushed the thoughts aside and eased his muscles. No time to think now. It all came down to instinct.

_Act on what you see – and act fast, if necessary._

It was...not what he expected.

In the blink of a second his eyes captured everything that the situation had to offer, taking it all in.

_Well, the Empress most certainly will be interested to hear about_ this _._

Carefully he moved toward the sitting corner where Gaspard de Chalon, the Grand Duke was peacefully sleeping in an armchair. A wine bottle (half-empty) was there at the table, but there was no glass. _That_ was in his hand – unfortunately, at least for the Grand Duke, no longer in an upright position.

“Everything alright?”

A voice behind him. Fabrice’s voice.

Etienne turned around to face his trusted friend who had entered the room just a minute after himself. Like he had been told, naturally. It could have been a trap after all. And Etienne might be _paon_ , but he was not stupid. Of course he had asked someone to have his back.

“All is fine,” Etienne said quietly, not willing to wake up Gaspard just yet. “The Grand Duke just had a bit too much of the wine, it would seem.”

He could see a smile on Fabrice’s lips. Or maybe he was imagining it.

“Go and get the Grand Duke’s manservant, if you please,” he ordered.

Fabrice was almost gone again, when an idea sprung Etienne’s mind as he looked at the Grand Duke’s wine-stained trousers. Under his own mask, he smiled wickedly.

_Celene will love that._

“Oh, Fabrice?” The man halted at his command. “Tell him to bring a new pair of trousers. And make _sure_ not to be too discreet when making that request.”

He imagined he could hear his friend laugh silently. “With pleasure,” Fabrice stated, leaving the room without closing the door behind him. No need to. The more witnesses, the better...

_Well, that went rather unexpected. Thank you, unknown stranger._

Etienne chuckled to himself as he closed the small window Gaspard must have left half-open for a fresh breeze. No need for him to catch a cold above everything else. The Grand Duke would remember this night for quite some time as it was.

Laughing to himself gleefully, Etienne did not notice the second wine glass, down there, in the bushes just beneath the window.

 

* * *

 

 

Morrigan entered her own chamber through the window, glad that no servant had been here in the meantime and accidently closed it. Not that it mattered much: most of the personnel were at the palace anyway. If necessary, she would have found a way past the only two remaining guards, patrolling around the building the guest chambers were located in. Yet it was easier to enter unseen this way.

_Hopefully un_ heard _as well._

As she _shifted_ back from the raven-form, she gave a silent curse at her clothing. The high-heeled shoes she was wearing were easily cast off to avoid any noises. The long, wide dress, however, was fairly impractical when it came to sneaking around.

_Well, we will just have to live with that now, will we not?_

After all there was definitely not enough time to take it off, do what she came for, sneak back, put it on again...and return to the ballroom. Time was of the essence now. The fact that some of the nobles had overheard how Lady Rione was about to meet an ‘old friend’ might have bought her some time before her absence was noticed, but on the other hand – who knew how Gaspard would react once he woke up? If he happened to send all his people out immediately to search for her, she might have even less time than expected.

Carefully, she moved toward the door, opening it without a single noise. It was an old habit that she still expected every door to creak.

_Not in the Imperial Palace, though._

There was absolute silence in the corridor, just as she had hoped. When the Empress held a ball, every single person in the palace would be there if possible. She had counted on that.

So, as she slipped out into the corridor, all she heard were the noises she made herself, which were fortunately not many at all. Holding the dress up a little in order to prevent it from dragging over the floor, she tiptoed over the cold marble floor. Reaching the corner, she took a careful peek, but even though a few of the doors were open, there was no noise to be heard down that hallway either.

It took her but a few moments until she finally reached her destination: the door to Alexiane’s room. For the first time she was actually glad that Celene had put them in chambers this close to each other.

Not wasting any more time, she opened the door, ready to slip in...

...and her eyes widened.

_What has happened here?_

The whole room was a mess. Clothes thrown carelessly on the floor, books flung from the shelves, all the cupboards, cabinets and even the bed sheets seemed to be ransacked – and of course the chests, which most likely contained Alexiane’s personal belongings. Everything, literally _everything_ was in complete disarray. Alexiane couldn’t possibly...

_Thieves!_

The single word pierced through her thoughts, a realization that should have come the moment she had entered.

She gave a silent curse. _Of course_ she hadn’t been the only one aware of the fact that during an event such as this, the quarters were almost unguarded and not a single soul was in their respective rooms. It was a feast for burglars clever (and bold) enough to find a way into. And judging from the open doors she had just witnessed, they might very well still be here. She had been lucky to not accidently run into them!

_Lucky? They have beaten me to it. Those accursed fools were faster and have taken all the valuables! All this was for naught!_

She barely resisted the urge to scream aloud in frustration. Of all the dozens of balls Celene held throughout any year, they had chosen _this_ one. They would have taken everything. She had failed – and now all there was to do is to get away from here as quickly as possible before any further harm...

_Think!_

She had been on the verge of going when it suddenly hit her.

_Yes, they were here for the valuables – but they were not here for_ valuables _!_

She could have slapped herself for letting her impulsiveness almost get the better of her. Of course the thieves would have taken everything of value – coin, jewelry even an expensive looking wine maybe.

But that was not what Morrigan had come for anyway now, was it?

Quickly, she moved back into the room, examining the desk. No luck there: a bunch of papers has been fallen on the floor, but those were empty.

_No letters._

Next were the cabinets. Morrigan looked out for loose rear walls, hidden compartments and other oddities – without success.

Nothing under the bed either.

Nor in the bed stand.

Frantically she looked around, almost arriving at the conclusion that – thieves or not – her hopes had been in vain anyway, that there was nothing to find here.

But then she saw it.

It was easy to miss because, due to the bookshelves being cleared out on the floor, there were a lot of books lying around...but this one was different. For one it lied somewhat apart from the others (because it probably hadn’t been on the bookshelves of course!) – and additionally because it was not a thick, grand volume, but merely a small thing of simple leather binding.

Fascinated, Morrigan bend down to pick it up and opened it on a random page right in the middle. The handwriting was exquisite, all curves and gaudiness in every single letter.

_‘tis hers._

She had never seen Alexiane’s handwriting, but this one matched the overall style of that woman so ridiculously perfect that she had little doubt about that.

A broad smile played on her lips.

_A journal! That foolish woman has kept a journal!_

Morrigan had never seen the point in keeping one at all – even if she hadn’t considered writing an ordeal in itself, she could only think of it as a pointless and risky waste of time. But if the finding of ridiculous amounts of torn diary pages during her travels with Warden Elissa, Leliana, Alistair and the others had taught her one thing, then it most certainly was that people – especially proud, arrogant or mad people – loved to write down every single thing that came to their minds.

She couldn’t resist the urge to take a little peek inside...and she most certainly wasn’t disappointed:

_‘...ordered me to do some magic for her. That foolish woman! And yet, I can only laugh because it is most perfect. While doing magic, little ‘accidents’ can happen. They do all the time. And if something should happen to Celene? All the better! I need to be quick on the run, of course, but oh, once I am out! He will make me rich. He will make me noble. And maybe he will finally make me his! I have no illusions of course. He is the Grand Duke, after all. He cannot marry a mage. But a mistress? Why not? And once I am in his bed, he will never want to...’_

Morrigan’s almost felt a shiver running down her spine. This...

_She is in love with him! With Gaspard!_

With eyes widening, she skimmed through a few other pages, literally every single one of them having his name on them at least once, some of the statements enough to make an Antivan harbour whore blush. Morrigan stared at the treasure inside her hands incredulously.

_How could she?_

It was beyond belief how mind-bogglingly foolish the woman had to be to not only write these lines down but to _not_ have the foresight to burn them afterwards. This book could easily destroy her, so why did she keep it? Why did she write it in the first place?

But Morrigan knew the answer already. She had given it to herself a few moments ago.

_Who keeps diaries? Proud, arrogant and mad people. Or people in love. And she is all of that._

With this in her hand she could easily...

Morrigan gave a start. Had there been a noise out in the corridor?

Hastily she looked around, her eyes finally falling on the window. She could _shift_ again. Fly out. But what about the book?

_Maybe if I throw it out and pick it up later...?_

“Lady Rione?”

Instinctively, Morrigan held the book behind her back, hopefully fast enough so that the intruder...

She frowned as she finally had a good look at the person standing there in the doorframe, raising an eyebrow behind her mask as she noticed someone familiar.

“Pierre?”

_What is_ he _doing here?_

“What are _you_ doing here?” he asked, open-mouthed.

_He is just as surprised as you are. Do not think. Act._

Instincts kicked in as she moved toward the man, trying to stay as close to the wall as possible, hiding the treasure behind her back. “Oh, Pierre, do you...do you see this?” she stuttered (at least she hoped it sounded like a veritable stutter), “Intruders!”

His head turned toward the chaos in the room for a moment and Morrigan took the chance to make yet another two steps.

_Almost there._

“The guards, Pierre! You need to call the guards!” she shouted, her voice (hopefully) trembling, making another step. “Now!”

With that she pushed herself beside him and darted out into the corridor, not looking back – and not giving him any chance to react. She could hear his voice calling out her name again, but was too busy not stumbling over that stupid dress.

_The book! Need to hide the book!_

Her thoughts were in turmoil, briefly touching the rather unpleasant subject of possibly having to explain herself to Pierre – and most likely the Empress if he decided to report her in.

It all didn’t matter. The only thing important was securing the book.

_No time to waste; just throw it behind the bed._

She raced towards the safety of her own chamber, ready to toss her treasure...

Morrigan came to an abrupt halt in her own doorframe, aghast at the sight.

_Oh no._

It was a similar sight as before: utter chaos and disarray. Clothes, books, papers, even bed sheets on the floor, all the cabinets opened, her personal chest...

_They have been here! Blasted, they have been here in the meantime!_

“Lady Rione,” Pierre’s voice. Behind her. Nervous. “Give me the book. Now.”

_What?_

She spun around, facing him, the book in her hand.

 “Pierre, they were here, too! They might still be...”

“They were not. _I_ was.”

She stared at him blankly.

“It needed to look perfect,” he said hastily, “No suspicion. I do apologize, _but you need to give me the book back_.”

She frowned at the man, only processing his words one at a time.

“ _You_ did this?”

“The book, Morrigan! Now.”

_‘Morrigan’._

He knew her name?

Maybe it was the nervousness in his voice or maybe the deep breath she had just taken. Possibly even the words themselves suddenly forming sentences with meaning. Either way: A cold calmness returned to her as she tilted her head, facing him without blinking.

“You did this. And you know about the book. And my name.”

“I don’t have the time to explain,” he retorted briskly (and yet: there was panic in his eyes even visible behind the mask), “The guards may come any minute and the book needs to be in her room.”

Morrigan nodded slowly, comprehending.

“Because you placed it there. For them to find.”

“Yes, now...”

“Is it real?”

“No. Does it matter? You know that it _is_ true by now, right?”

A forgery. Of course.

_But he is right: Does it matter?_

It didn’t. Morrigan knew that Alexiane was working for Gaspard – whether for love or for coin or out of actual loyalty mattered not.

_Still..._

“Why? Why did you place it?”

Pierre took a deep breath – or maybe it was a sigh? Either way, a hint of the old irritation returned to his voice as he replied: “Listen, we do not have much time. The mistress knows Alexiane is working for Gaspard and she wants her out. For good. Now if you would _please_ give me the fucking book?”

“Mistress?”

Silence. Shocked silence.

_Said too much now, did you not? Interesting..._

“Who is your mistress? Who are you working...?”

...and suddenly it all made sense. An image flickered up in her head. Pierre in the garden. Pierre chatting with...

“Briala.”

_Of course! I am such a fool to not see it before!_

“‘tis her, is it not? She is not just a spy - _she_ is Celene’s spymaster.”

The thing with masks is: As much as they cover more or less large parts of the face, they still allow you to see the eyes – and when someone closes them for a few consecutive seconds. The sign of admitting defeat.

_‘You have found me out.’ That is the message._

Pierre did exactly that, giving her all the confirmation she needed without any words.

“Yes, it is her. But do not ever approach her directly. Do not tell her about any of this. I was under strict order to keep you out of it all. Now...the book?”

_The handmaid._

It was perfect. She could be near the Empress whenever she felt the need without raising any questions. She could observe without being noticed. She could report. And she could – if necessary – protect her with her own life.

Also, she could meet with Pierre in the garden, appearing to gossip about when actually hearing out his report.

_Why did I not see this before?_

It also explained why Pierre knew her real name. Finally, all the pieces came together.

_And she has found out that Alexiane is working for Gaspard, too. Just like I did. Small wonder that she wants her out._

...which, at least for the moment, made her an ally. 

Absent-mindedly Morrigan handed the book to Pierre who accepted it with a grunt that sounded somewhat more grateful than he probably intended.

“You should go now,” he simply said before he darted back into the corridor.

_Indeed I should._

After all, there was still a ball going on. And Lady Rione should be there before word of the intruders got out. _If_ it got out. After all, it would be quite the scandal.

Morrigan smiled.

_Not nearly as grand as the scandal that no one will hear about._

Cheerfully, she grabbed her shoes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, you do have to come! Our chateau in Val Hena is just divine during summer!” the woman stated, locking Morrigan’s arm even tighter with her own. Her voice grew a little more quiet and conspicuous (but just a little; she still most definitely wanted to be heard) as she added: “And Nicolas will be there the whole summer...”

_How nice for Nicolas..._    

“’twould be my pleasure,” Morrigan stated with a forced smile.

The Blight might take Nicolas as far as Morrigan was concerned – and his obnoxious mother right with him.

But irritating as yet another noncommittal hint at a potential marriage was, she was grateful to that foolish woman. After all, she had been talking like that ever since their meeting in the hallway – and she had been going on and on and on in that not exactly subtle tone of hers. Dozens of guests must have witnessed it.

Dozens of witnesses who could potentially confirm that Lady Rione had been _very_ present at the ball.

Morrigan only listened with one ear as the old woman went on. Her eyes were searching the vestibule for familiar faces – either to observe or to avoid them. Gaspard, Briala, Pierre. None of them was to be seen.

Returning to the palace had not been as difficult as she had imagined. In the end she went for one of the balconies without any guests save a couple of young lovers who had been too...busy to notice her landing around the corner and _shifting_ back.

There had been the incident with her hair – a minor nuisance she had noticed when it had been too late already and quite a few guests had stared at her curiously, whispering to each other and giggling when she had passed by. A brief look in the mirror had revealed that the little episode in the guest quarters had messed up her headdress a little, something the nobility naturally interpreted in their own ways.

_Let them. ‘tis all the better if they do._

Because,  all things considered, some guests had heard Lady Rione being summoned by an ‘old friend’ for a ‘private meeting’, some others had witnessed her running around with her hair all muddled up after said alleged meeting and yet some others had heard Nicolas’ mother – whose name Morrigan had forgotten already – intently speak about marriage and the chateaux in Val Hena. And since gossip had a way to find gossip, she had great faith in the gathered nobility to make a colorful tale out of this.

A tale that most certainly would never be connected to what happened in the guest quarters.

“Oh, is that not the Comtesse Jeannevere over there?” the voice of her seventh potential mother-in-law ripped her out of her thoughts as much as the fact that she loosened her grip. “My apologies, Lady Rione, but I need to talk with her about that outrageous business in Mont-e-glace. We shall speak later?”

Morrigan nodded approvingly. “’tis been a pleasure.”

_Finally free!_

Politely she let the woman go her way before heading for the ballroom again. The picture hadn’t changed much since she had left, albeit the number of guests had further decreased. There were more dancers, though. And neither Celene, nor Briala were to be seen anywhere.

“Making friends, I see?”

Morrigan turned around to face the woman with the all-too-familiar voice. “You might say so,” she replied coldly, “And how is the evening doing for you, Lady Alexiane?”

Alexiane smiled broadly – and without putting too much effort into hiding her contempt either. “Oh splendid, I would say. Lots of new interesting acquaintances. They shall be useful...in my position, no?”

_Oh, I doubt any of your acquaintances can help you in your_ actual _position, foolish woman._

“Well, well, I see your optimism has not abandoned you yet. A sharp contrast to your sense of reality, then.” Morrigan stated drily, taking a glass of wine offered by a servant with a salver.

Alexiane’s fake laugh chimed high and clear. “Oh, how I am going to miss this.”

“I would very much think so.”

_You have no idea what else you are going to miss, my friend._

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you again, Lady Rione. Oh, why so grim? Just smile a little. It is a wonderful night, no?”

“Yes,” murmured Morrigan at nothing but Alexiane’s back since the woman was already on the way to her next ‘acquaintance’, “’tis a _splendid_ night.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Are we sure that it is authentic?” Celene asked while still reading the words in an all too familiar handwriting. The words which had forced Briala to give the signal, demanding to speak to her in private immediately. It was a rhetorical question, of course. Bria wouldn’t have asked the Empress of Orlais to leave the ball for a moment had she not deemed the finding important.

It was hardly uncommon that the Empress should withdraw even during an event like that, but still they didn’t have too much time before the crowd would get nervous – or even worse: start speculating what possible matters could draw her away for too long.

Which made the rhetorical question even more redundant, for she perfectly knew what Briala’s reply would be.

“We can’t be completely sure about anything. But this is as good as it gets,” she stated and placed a piece of paper next to the diary – a page out of Lady Alexiane’s little essay. The one she had written on the day Celene had introduced her and Morrigan.

_That little piece of paper has proven quite useful._

The handwriting was obviously the same, right up to the smallest curve, the most subtle characteristics. One of Briala’s most trusted men had found it in Alexiane’s room after the guards had reported an intrusion on the upper floor of the guest quarters.

“It could be a forgery,” Celene stated, only half-heartedly.

“By whom? Morrigan?” Briala sounded amused and even Celene had to suppress a chuckle.

“It is unlikely, I’ll admit that.”

Not only was the idea that a woman whose own handwriting was little above that of a eight-year-old could mimic Alexiane’s handwriting to perfection fairly absurd – no, even _if_ Morrigan had played them and would be able to create a perfect copy such as this, Celene had a hard time picturing that woman sitting still in her study for days and days to write a whole book full of that.

“Also, everything else seems to fit,” Briala elaborated, “The names of the templars and authorities in the Circle who signed the permission for an indefinite leave, the dates of the entries, the people she was in contact with at the White Spire – as far as my information goes, it all matches up.”

_And why shouldn’t it?_

Celene looked at the curved letters on the page. Alexiane being Gaspard’s puppet? She and Briala had witnessed and experienced far more incredible acts of treason in the past years.

_And at least one of us has actually committed one._

She looked at her beloved, year-long training and exercise (and naturally: the mask) preventing her own face to reflect the inevitable guilt that tried to force itself into her head whenever her thoughts went down that particular road. She pushed it away. As usual.

_I did what needed to be done, Bria._

As if that had been her cue, Briala said, “And the question you should be asking yourself is: Can we afford to ignore this?”

There wasn’t any reproach in her voice, but Celene knew what Briala was thinking. After all, she had warned her beforehand that all this was a bad idea and an unnecessary risk. That Celene’s ‘obsession with occult nonsense’ was clouding her view.

Well, they certainly disagreed about that. Fascination set aside, these were dangerous times – and they called for unconventional allies and advisors. It was risk, yes. But it was necessary if she wanted to be prepared for the things to come.

_But still she is right in the other matter..._

It was true that Celene could not afford to ignore such a piece of evidence. After all, it most certainly fit into the pattern of Gaspard’s schemes. There was a man who detested the Game – and it showed in the way he played it: clumsily, reluctantly, but in the end still not putting enough effort into it to avoid mistakes. Most often by choosing the wrong allies.

_And Alexiane obviously was a_ very _poor choice._

“No, we cannot,” Celene simply said, her decision being made. She pointed toward the book. “See that this goes to the Seekers.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

They could keep Alexiane away from her room for a while even after the ball was over, but sooner or later she would notice something was amiss – and as soon as she noticed that her journal was missing, there was no way to predict the outcome. Better to get rid of all this as soon as possible. A rogue mage planning ‘accidents’ for the Empress of Orlais was the templar’s responsibility after all. Undoubtedly an unpleasant experience for Alexiane, but it was her own doing for choosing the wrong side, not Celene’s.

_I just do what needs to be done._


	6. Touché

“...and so all that remains for me to say, is that I was indeed pleased by the way you to presented yourselves tonight.” Celene finally finished and raised her glass, for a brief moment looking as if she was about to salute them – which was most certainly not the case, of course.

But Morrigan cared little for any that. Nor had she paid any particular attention to the Empress’ little speech before. Whenever Celene was not looking at her directly, Morrigan watched Alexiane’s reactions from the corner of her eyes.

“I am humbled by your kind words, Your Radiance,” Alexiane stated, actually making a curtsy instead of just indicating one. “It is a pleasure to serve, especially on such a grand occasion. Oh, the splendor! Such a divine night...”

She went on, but Morrigan didn’t care for those words either. She was much more interested in what the woman did _not_ say. And in that regard Alexiane’s composure was either an indicator for her being unaware of any danger – or the lady mage was a brilliant actress until the bitter end.

_She does not seem to be worried in the least._

Could that be? Was it possible that none of her allies had noticed anything and warned her?

_Well, there most certainly was no disquiet in the crowd, was there?_

Whatever Pierre and Briala had done in the background – nothing had been noticed by the guests. Morrigan caught herself admiring the subtlety with which they must have worked that out. No tidings of the ‘burglars’ at the guest quarters had reached the ball while it lasted. And it would seem that at least Alexiane was still oblivious to that.

_Which means that I need to be as well,_ Morrigan reminded herself.

After all, the Empress had summoned her and Alexiane almost immediately after the grand event had ended. And so it was only the three of them here in the palace gallery, a private meeting after the last guests had left.

_No Briala either,_ Morrigan noticed, wondering if that was a good sign or a bad one. Maybe they didn’t want to arise any suspicions in Alexiane. Or maybe...

_Maybe something went wrong._

It was an unpleasant thought, but Morrigan had learned to better prepare for possible failures. These were schemes within schemes after all – and there was plenty of room for potential lapses. Guards showing up before Pierre had placed the journal, for example. Or right at the moment when he did. Or possibly the guards weren’t observant enough to notice the diary at all.

_Relax. ‘tis Briala’s play. She will have taken care of that._

“Well, obviously Lady Rione is still overwhelmed by the grandeur of this evening, could it be?” Celene’s words cut through her thoughts. “Or should we take your silence as a sign of disinterest?”

Both Celene’s and Alexiane’s eyes were fixed on her and too late she noticed that she had indeed been lost in thoughts, ignoring the little conversation.

“I...ah...I do apologize, Your Radiance. ‘twas magnificent. I agree,” she stuttered, embarrassed.

_Concentrate!_

“Well, I think now I can sleep much more peacefully, knowing that the ball has found _your_ approval, Lady Rione.” Celene stated sarcastically.

An amused chuckle escaped Alexiane’s mouth. Or maybe she _had_ let it escape. When Morrigan looked at her, she could see a patronizing smile directed at her.

“Either way,” the Empress stated, “It is late and we all can use a good night of sleep. We shall speak about my decision tomorrow. Rest well, _Mesdames_.” Celene rose from her chair, turning away toward the window, her wineglass in hand.

In perfect symmetry, both Morrigan and Alexiane went for the door but before Morrigan could step through, Celene’s voice arose once more, suddenly bearing a stern undertone: “Lady Rione, you stay. I need to have a few words with you.”

Morrigan was taken aback by the sudden sharpness in the Empress’ voice.

_What have I done wrong now?_

Well, she had done _plenty_ of things one might consider wrong tonight, but Celene wouldn’t know about those, would she?

Puzzled, Morrigan turned around again, noticing in the corner of her eyes a broad, self-satisfied grin on Alexiane’s face, the triumphant facial expression of a winner, who only knew too well that her opponent was about to face some unpleasant talk, most likely her rejection.

_Something has gone wrong, has it not?_

When the door closed behind Alexiane, Morrigan stood absolutely still, not sure what she was up against. The fact that she was only facing the Empress’ back once more did not help with that.

“I wonder, Lady Rione,” Celene began, “if you have heard about my cousin’s _faux pas_ tonight?”

“Yes, Your Radiance. I have, naturally.”

Celene bringing this up was most certainly not a good sign, but there was absolutely no use in lying here. As soon as the Grand Duke had left the ball, the amused whisperings had begun. Not a soul who had been here tonight could seriously claim to _not_ have heard about Gaspard’s ‘little mishap’.

“From what I gather, he had a drink too much and passed out,” Morrigan elaborated truthfully. It was, after all, indeed what she had gathered from the crowd. No need to give up any knowledge beyond that yet...

“Yes, indeed.” Celene said, not hiding her amusement at the thought. “I am a little surprised, though.”  

Suddenly she turned around, her eyes locked on Morrigan. “Gaspard may be a fool in many ways but up until now he has certainly not shown a lack of self-discipline. It is curious that a man such as he might be so careless with the bottle, wouldn’t you say?”

_She knows._

There was little doubt about that now. It was far less clear, however, if she approved or disapproved of what she knew – and what she wanted to hear from Morrigan. But with those eyes staring at her, she did not have much time to think about her choice of words.

“Well, I hear wine can be treacherous,” Morrigan simply said, surprised at how calm her own voice sounded.

_Instinct. Let it go and see where it will take you._

“’Treacherous’, yes? A _very_ interesting choice of words,” Celene said. “So the wine betrayed him?”

“It cannot betray him – it was never his to begin with,” Morrigan replied without a pause, fully aware that they were no longer talking about wine at all. They never had. “And yet, maybe he already _had_ some and then craved more and more? A man may consider himself in perfect control when in fact touching something better left alone.”

“Interesting.”

“’tis a common mistake.”

“So, you think I should keep my hands of the ‘wine’ as well? In order to not repeat his mistake?”

Morrigan smiled. No. No wine-talk at all.

“I would suggest no such thing. ‘tis useful to have a sip or two. Indeed a glass of wine can be a loyal and...inspiring friend. As long as you do not get too greedy and stare into that bottle too deep.” She held Celene’s gaze without blinking, “It may become dangerous otherwise.”

It was not meant as a threat – and Morrigan was careful enough to not make it sound like one.

Celene nodded and considered this for a moment. “Wise words, Lady Rione.”

“Now, is this the reason I am still here? To discuss wine?”

“Not at all. While that most certainly was...insightful, I mainly wanted you to stay a while longer, so that the Lady Alexiane can walk to her room alone. It is better if she is...undisturbed.”

_No witnesses? Interesting. You certainly did not waste any time..._

“Is that so?”

“Indeed it is. You may be interested to learn that Lady Alexiane will not join us tomorrow,” Celene mentioned casually, “when we shall discuss terms for our little arrangement.”

Again Morrigan felt scrutinized in more than one way by Celene’s gaze. Her reaction would be noted with great interest. And again, she felt that lying and pretending might be a dangerous game. “That is most unfortunate for her,” she simply said, leaving the interpretation of that to the Empress.

_I am in. I won._

Was she a fool for taking pleasure in that thought? Flemeth most certainly would laugh contemptuously if she knew that Morrigan took pride in beating them at their own game. ‘And what a foolish little game it is,’ she might say.

She would be right, of course, but this was nothing she had been prepared for. Nothing she had been taught. She had beaten them on their very own ground – by their own rules. She had bested them. And that alone was an achievement.

“It _is_ too bad for Lady Alexiane. But that shall not be your concern. You have done well, Lady Morrigan,” Celene said – finally giving her own name back to her – and turned around toward the window again. “We shall speak more tomorrow. Close the door behind you, if you would be so kind.”

That was all.

Morrigan left without hesitating even for a moment. She knew there wouldn’t be anything more coming from this woman. No congratulations or good wishes. No confirmation of her victory. And why should there be? After all, to the Empress of Orlais Morrigan had achieved nothing yet, her usefulness still to be determined.

_But it_ shall _be determined. There is no longer any doubt._

She couldn’t help but put on a triumphant grin just for herself. It was foolish, of course, but still...a part of her felt oddly satisfied with herself.

_Careful, though. That was Alexiane’s and Gaspard’s mistake. ‘tis not one you want to repeat._

“Lady Morrigan?”

She didn’t give start at the tiny voice from behind her – no, instead she instantly spun around, ready to defend herself if need be.

Her muscles relaxed when she noticed that she was actually facing a small elven maid, whose surprise at Morrigan’s quick reaction was fortunately greater than her own.

“What? What do you want?” she almost barked at the woman who seemed to shrink with every word.

“I...apologize, but I came here to...to escort you.”

“I am very aware of where my quarters are. I shall find the way without your aid.”

“He...he didn’t ask me to escort you to your quarters...”

“He?” Morrigan frowned. What new act was this?

“Pierre, my lady.”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed, thanks to that foolish mask something the elf might unfortunately fail to notice. So she added a new sharpness to her voice to make the point: “If he wishes to speak to me he shall come himself. I am growing tired of his games.”

Before she turned around, the elf almost whispered “Please, Lady Morrigan. You should not go out there alone right now.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes...my lady. He said you would not enjoy running into the templars.”

_Templars?_

She would’ve done literally everything to resist cringing at that word but unfortunately the memory of the assault was only too vivid.

“There are templars out there? Right now?”

“Yes, four of them. And they brought a Seeker along.” The woman’s voice had regained a certain amount of stability. Too bad.

A part of her wanted to simply go outside in spite of it all, but she had little trouble to subdue that urge of mindless defiance. Templars finding her out there could end badly. Very badly. She was not exactly sure if Celene’s word would be enough to overrule ancient orders of how to deal with apostates – but cold rationality told her that she did not want to find out.

_Cold rationality. And the memories._

The Source inside, cut off mercilessly without a warning. Emptiness. Loneliness. Weakness.

She shuddered.

“So, I assume that Pierre has a suggestion how to solve this little problem?”

“He asked me to escort you to the small chantry, Lady Morrigan.”

_Of course he did._

Morrigan’s mood grew even darker if that was possible at all. “Well, ‘tis not an option. The Chantry and I...we do not go along well, you see.”

The elf actually giggled. Far too much confidence for Morrigan’s taste.

“Yes, he said that you would say such a thing.”

“Did he now?”

“Yes, my lady. He also told me that if you would refuse I should also add that you will meet the mistress in there. She would like to have a word.”

Morrigan halted on the spot. Briala?  Now that would indeed make for an interesting little chat. After all, the woman had a lot of explaining to do. And the palace’s ‘small’ chantry was – she had to admit – not the worst choice for some undisturbed little chat in the middle of the night.

“Let us go then.”

The woman curtsied and led the way, down the familiar corridors, but not into the direction of the main hall. So, obviously they were not going for the main entrance, Morrigan noted.

_Probably for the best._

She was led through the kitchens, passing some rather surprised servants who at least remembered to give a curtsy in front of the high lady before hurriedly getting back to work, whatever work that might be right now, in the middle of the night.

The elven woman stepped out into the garden first, indicating that the way was clear after taking a look around. Morrigan followed her as quickly as her still highly impractical wardrobe allowed.

_Next time I shall choose a less obstructive dress. And better shoes._

But as she sneaked through the familiar garden next to the girl, she couldn’t help but wonder if her fashion had really been her gravest mistake. There was something else...a sense of foreboding.

_Am I overlooking something?_

Something was amiss, wasn’t it? Why, for example, had Pierre send the maid to get her out instead of coming himself? And why hadn’t Briala simply summoned her to a place somewhere in the palace? Yes, the small chapel would be quiet and peaceful at this time of the day, but surely resourceful Briala would be able to find a room within the palace that held the same benefits. It was her territory after all.

_Could_ this _be a trap?_

She was a moment too late when the sudden impact threw her forward, almost making her fall down flat.

Instinctively, she spun sideways, facing the elven girl who had so violently pushed her, ready to defend herself...but then she stopped in mid-movement when she noticed the girl’s gesture.

Finger pressed on her lips. Pushing herself flat against the statue behind her.

And Morrigan understood.

She hadn’t _attacked_ Morrigan, she had tried to fling the both of them out of the way, right behind the statues.

Then Morrigan heard the noises, too.

_Footsteps._

Distant enough that they might not have noticed them, but clearly getting closer. And the constant steps of the heavy boots left little room for imagination who they belonged to.

Without further hesitation Morrigan cowered and pressed herself against the closest statue in the same manner like the elf, barely daring to breathe.

_Again the statues!_ It certainly seemed that in the past weeks, Morrigan had become fairly intimately acquainted with Emperor Kordillus Drakon and his stone friends...

She almost laughed at the thought, but one look at the girl behind the other statue reminded her that the current situation was better dealt with in utter silence.

The time seemed to stretch endlessly while they waited there but as soon as the templars were actually near the statues, she would have gladly switched back to the endless waiting. She held her breath, not moving a muscle.

Fortunately, the group was obviously on the march, not wasting any time on the garden’s attractions. They were heading for the guest quarters after all.

_Well, Lady Alexiane. It would seem that you were right – you shall return to the Circle. Such a pity that ‘tis not in the way you expected._

When the templars had passed, Morrigan dared to take a peek from behind the statue. In the light of the braziers along the way, she could make out five people, four of them templars – a woman and three men. In their middle there was another person, though – an upright woman with short dark hair and another symbol on her breastplate: an eye encircled by flames or rays of light.

_Now, that would be the Seeker, then._

The woman looked around stern-faced and Morrigan quickly pulled her head back. Not a chance that she could have been spotted from there, but somehow she did not want to take any risks with that woman.

Just as she wondered how much longer she could hold her breath, a shout in the distance broke the silence: “RUN, ALEXIANE – RUN! THEY’RE COMING!“

A few heartbeats later there was something that sounded very much like an explosion.

She could hear curses among the templars and barely managed to stay silent herself. Then she heard a voice that could only belong to the Seeker-woman barking orders, followed by voices and the sound of heavy boots running into the general direction of the guest quarters.

Morrigan made a grimace.

_Looks like Lady Alexiane is not willing to go quietly..._

“What are you doing?”

She heard the elf’s voice before she felt the touch on her shoulder – and only after _that_ she realized how, without noticing, she herself had moved forward a few steps. Right into the direction the templars were running.

“You cannot go there!” the girl added.

“I cannot possibly let _her_ get away. Not after all this.”

“She won’t, Lady Morrigan. The templars will see to that. But if they notice you...”

For a moment she seriously considered her options. The urge to just run toward the building and finish Alexiane in her own way was overwhelming.

_‘tis also the hot anger talking again._

Her breathing slowed down again. Yes, it would be foolish. Even if she could reach Alexiane before they could – the templars would not take kindly to run into another apostate. And who knew what the Seeker-woman might be capable of...

Slowly, gritting her teeth, she nodded.

“Yes, you are right.”

And with that they turned around into the opposite direction and toward the small chantry.

_Briala_ really _has a lot to answer for!_

They walked quickly, but avoided running, keeping themselves in the shadows beside the enlightened path in the middle of the garden. Not that anyone was out there at the moment, but there was no use taking any risks, was there?

As they finally reached the chapel, the servant stepped aside, holding her hand out and making a little bow. “My task is done. You should enter quickly now – before the templars decide to look around.”

Under her mask Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “You are not coming with me?”

“Oh no, Lady Morrigan,” the woman said, her voice trembling just a little too much to hide her fear, “My orders were very explicit. The mistress would kill me on sight if I came along, suspecting something to be wrong.”

_Would she now?_

For a moment, Morrigan actually wondered if Celene’s handmaid was a stone-cold killer as the elf’s tensed posture suggested. Then she remembered the only little talk she had had with Briala after intercepting the messenger – and the way the woman’s eyes had spoken to her. No, there was no doubt that she was capable of killing one of her own people.

_I wonder why, though._

The feeling of something being amiss was back now.

“Why did Pierre not come himself?”

“Pardon me?” The question had obviously come as a surprise to the woman.

_How curious._

“You heard me well, girl. Why did he not come himself to ‘escort’ me?”

“Pierre…” The woman was clearly struggling, not feeling comfortable – most likely asking herself what she was allowed to say...or if she had said too much already. “Pierre had to leave. He cannot be discovered here under any circumstances.”

Morrigan frowned. That made no sense at all. Why would one of Briala’s men run into risk of discovery? Couldn’t the spymaster protect her own people?

_You noticed her and him talking in the garden yourself. Others might have done the same._

It was an explanation. And yet not a very satisfying one.

“Lady Morrigan, please…you need to go.”

For a moment Morrigan hesitated, considering her options. It was hard to tell if the Game was messing with her head or if all of this was really as _wrong_ as it suddenly felt.

_Could it be a trap? What if there are templars waiting inside – or worse?_

Unfortunately, the problem was that there _were_ without a question templars outside. And a Seeker. Whatever was waiting inside, standing here out in the open was a risk in itself.

She took a deep breath and readied herself as she reached for the door. If Briala was not alone, she’d need to act quickly – if necessary _shift_ and fly away. And if she was alone, Morrigan swore to herself to ask the right questions.

Being prepared to reach for her Inner Source in an instant, she stepped inside.

Of course, the chapel would be ornamented grandly – it was part of the Imperial Palace after all. And no matter what the Chantry preached: pomp and splendour was _their_ game. Fortunately, the silver patterns and the murals were just that – décor. No place to hide. The statue of Burning Andraste at the end of the aisle was the only object behind which someone might hide. Well, there were the pews leading up to the that statue and the altar, but there was no chance to hide there either because they were – to Morrigan’s relief – indeed all empty.

Except for a single figure.

She was seated on one of the pews in the middle of the room, a figure dressed in a dark grey robe.

_A curious wardrobe._

For a moment, Morrigan stood still and listened for any noises, but there were none. It was utterly quiet, except for her own breath. She forced that to slow down a little, not willing to give away that she might feel – just a little – uncomfortable at the moment.

_Do not act like a coward! You wanted to meet her – now give her a piece of your mind._

“Well, well,” she stated aloud, satisfied by the strength and confidence in her voice, “The Lady Briala! ‘twas time that you and I would have a little chat. After all, you have a lot…”

She froze as the woman in grey rose up.

Something _was_ amiss here. Something oddly _familiar_ about her movements. Something…

“Oh, you were expecting somebody else, yes?” Leliana asked with a playful smile on her lips. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra gave a short satisfied grunt when she felt the pulse.

_Maker be praised, at least not dead._

She looked up and signalled the good news to her men with a short silent nod and rose up again.

When they had heard the explosion after the warning shout, she had expected the worst, but as it turned out the mage’s victims, the guards in front of the guest quarters, were both alive. Either this Alexiane was really bad at aiming – something Cassandra could hardly believe of an experienced mage – or she had never intended to burn these two alive. The heat of the explosion had most likely caused a shock and robbed them of their consciousness. While the man right at her feet had gotten lucky and would be fine when he woke up, his comrade must have been closer to the fire and would very likely have some burning scars that would remain. His encounter with a mage would leave a mark forever.

_Just like it will on Alexiane when she has been judged._

It would be a different kind of mark, of course, but Cassandra had no illusions: Even considering Justinia’s diplomatic approach and the lack of dead bodies, the fact remained that Alexiane had assaulted innocents here. The Lord Seeker would not settle for less than the Rite of Tranquility.

_Once we catch her, that is._

Cassandra gave a few hand signs, ordering her men to split in two groups and encircle the building left and right, while she quietly stepped inside herself.

Most likely the templars would not encounter anything. At least that’s what Cassandra’s intuition told her. Alexiane wanted them to believe she had made a run in either direction – while she actually hid inside, waiting for a chance to escape once they were away far enough.

She could be wrong, naturally. And if she was it was for the better that the templars were not acting alone, but in pairs, making it easier to overwhelm the mage.

Of course, that left _Cassandra_ alone if she turned out to be right, but with only five people there was no other way and if someone had to go alone, it’d better be her. It sent the right signal. They would take it as a sign of strength and courage on her behalf. It showed that the Seekers were not hiding behind templar shields, but willing to put their own life on the line as well.

_Fortunately, they don’t know about the_ other _reason._

It was an uneasy thought and she tried to shove it aside as she silently stole into the main hall of the guest quarters, her eyes and ears focused on anything suspicious. And yet the thought was in her head.

_I am not sure if I can trust them._

It was sickening that it had come to this, but ever since Kirkwall the tensions inside the ranks had risen. And the plot Alexiane was taking part in was making things worse.

Cassandra took no pleasure or satisfaction at the thought of the punishment that awaited the mage once they had caught her. It was a necessity, nothing more. But while Alexiane’s alleged plans and actions were disgusting, the abominable truth lay in the fact that she was just a tiny little part, manipulated and lured by ruthless players in the background – and supported from the _inside_ of the Order.

When Sister Leliana had first approached her with the findings weeks ago, Cassandra’s first reaction had been utter disbelief. Oh, how she had wanted to prove that woman wrong; to make her, for once, appear as an overenthusiastic lickspittle of the Divine, driven paranoid by an unhealthy desire to uncover secrets.

Unfortunately, the truth was much more disconcerting: Leliana had presented evidence – sometimes strongly supported, sometimes just better suspicions – for dozens of cases like Alexiane’s: mages being released or granted ‘indefinite leave’ under the cover of studies or work in the field, while in truth being human contraband smuggled outside of the grasp of the Chantry. Some cases dated years back and in many of them the mages simply vanished from ‘the books’. Not every case was driven by dark schemes like the one Alexiane was part of. Sometimes it was just worried parents, paying good coin to get their sons or daughters out of the Circle. Understandable reasons – if foolish and selfish ones.

But always there were people inside making it possible: templars, mages, sisters, bookkeepers. There was always someone forging books or seals, giving false reports or recommendations, signing documents. And in the end it came down to a sickeningly simple reason.

_Coin. They are selling the Order’s and the Chantry’s integrity for silver and gold. Maker, how long has this corruption been going on?_

As much as she had wanted to curse Leliana for revealing this new problem to her (as if they didn’t have enough of those as it was!), she could not avert her eyes from it. She would find those responsible and bring them to the questioning. In the past weeks she had already done so in numerous cases. She had led the interrogations herself – and seen that they were done hard and merciless.

_And convicting those bastards was something I_ did _take pleasure in!_

Still there had been a few names she couldn’t have pinned down on hard evidence yet. Until tonight.

When the nervous elven messenger from the palace had arrived and delivered the journal, it all had fallen into place. _Of course_ , Leliana had happened to be somewhere around and heard of it within minutes (Cassandra hated how she managed that) and it had taken her only a superficial look at the journal to stumble upon some familiar names.

They were being arrested right now, if things were going according to plan.

Cassandra would have felt better if Leliana had seen to _that_ instead of insisting to come with her, mainly because she didn’t want the woman around. But luckily she stayed out of the actual hunt and had decided to stay in the small chapel – undoubtedly to meet with one of her spies here at the palace. Because, of course, she would have one or a dozen here. Leliana always had.

With a frown Cassandra came to a sudden halt.

_There is…something._

When she was hunting, she sometimes found it hard to recall if it had been a noise or a smell or something from the corner of her eyes that had sprung into her mind, but right now, something _had_. A presence. Here in the corridor.

_She’s here._

Not willing to give away any signs of her suspicions – and thus alarming Alexiane – Cassandra forced herself to move again. Slowly. Carefully.

_The side-corridor. That’s where she is. But left or right?_

As she approached the point at which the side corridor crossed the main hallway, she wished she could move any slower without giving away that she was aware of the presence. With every little step she took, she lost precious moments. A few more steps and she needed to make a decision.

She stopped breathing, clasping her sword and shield with all her strength. Why was there no sign?

_Concentrate!_

The sign came. It was subtle, of course. A mere breathing. Flat. Barely audible for someone who was not used to hunting like this. But there it was.

_To the left._

Two more steps.

Cassandra exhaled quietly, readying for the impact. It had to be fast. Really fast.

One more step.

Maker, now she wished she had a templar at her side. Not in front of her, naturally. She was not afraid to take a blow. But someone who could block the magick altogether.

_Well, too late for that now._

And with that she flung her shield around the corner, speculating that the mage might be close enough to feel a blow.

She was not.

And then there was pain.

It was everywhere at once, a shock running through her whole body like lighting.

Which it probably was.

With a grunt, Cassandra felt…well, nothing. The pain numbed every muscle, making her only witness in awe how her sword fell out of her hand, no longer held as the muscles gave in. And the floor…

…coming closer…

She wasn’t sure if it had been some final reflex or sheer luck that she held the shield out, preventing her from falling down flat. Instead she fall was cushioned by the shield, even if a throbbing pain stung into her shield-arm as it gave in. Sprained, most likely. The least of her problems now.

The moment her muscles followed her orders again, she rolled around, trying to rise at least a little – and lifting the shield at the same time.

No good news there.

She was facing the woman who had inexplicably been in the _right_ side-corridor ( _I HEARD that breath from the left – was this some trick?)_ , raising her hand already. Even despite the mask she could see the signs of panic around the corners of her mouth, but she couldn’t care less for that. All she could do was preparing herself for the next impact as silver lighting was sparking in Alexiane’s hand…

…and then there was an outcry.

Time seemed to slow down as Cassandra saw Alexiane’s right knee give in, something shiny biting deep into the flesh from behind.

Terror and agony on Alexiane’s face.

The odd way her body swayed – as if in some weird new Orlesian dance – as she lost balance and fell on one knee.

A figure behind her in the corridor.

A girl.

Brown hair.

Long, pointy ears.

Alexiane’s eyes, uncomprehending, were fixed on Cassandra for a moment. Still it took only the fracture of a second before she raised her hand again.

But a fracture of a second was all Cassandra needed.

A moment to _enter_.

It was a simple thought and a much more simple gesture as she clenched her free hand. The fist was not necessary, but it always helped her concentrating.

The shock on Alexiane’s face as her body went stiff.

A cry on her lips.

_You can feel it, right? Burning everywhere at once._

They called it a ‘Seeker’s Gift’, but Cassandra had a hard time thinking of it like that. Setting lyrium inside the blood aflame – it was plain cruel torture and she refused to consider the Maker giving her that ability as a ‘gift’. It was a tool of last resort, nothing more.

She could see Alexiane’s mouth opening for a scream – and pressed harder at once.

The scream died, but her distorted facial features left little doubt about the agony Alexiane was just feeling.

_It has to be this way._

In the past, Cassandra had only used light pressure, just enough to shock the mage enough to overwhelm them. After all, she did not want to torture any of them. She had hoped they would surrender when the pain started.

Unfortunately, she had also witnessed what a terrible sense of judgement a mage could show in this situation. Once you had seen a man turn into an abomination right before your eyes just because you had been too reluctant with the pain you dealt, priorities changed.

Ever since that unfortunate event, she had decided to not take any chances and press as hard as possible to paralyze them.

Behind Alexiane, there was no longer any sign of the mysterious woman who had thrown the dagger. She had disappeared as unnoticed as she had arrived.

And so they were alone again.

Panting hard, Cassandra stared into Alexiane’s face, knowing what was to come next. It was a delicate bit from here on.

_Press a little harder and she’ll pass out. Or press a little harder than_ that _– and she’s dead._

As tears uncontrollably raced down Alexiane’s cheeks, Cassandra wondered what would be more merciful. For what she had been about to do, the woman deserved a death sentence. The judgment she was actually going to get when returned to the Circle, however, would be worse than that. At least in the eyes of most mages.

And just thinking about the empty looks on a Tranquil’s face gave Cassandra a shiver.

_This is no way a person should live. Why is there no better way?_

There was. At least in this situation. All it took was a little pressure and it would be done. Did this woman , who had been nothing but a pawn in someone else’s play – naïve and probably desperate –, really deserve Tranquility?

_Just a little harder and she’s gone for good. You can do that for her. You can claim that you were defending yourself. Everyone will accept it. There’s_ no _reason why you shouldn’t spare her the fate. Nobody has to know…_

She hated it when it came to decisions like that. But in the end, no soul was there to take the responsibility from her. She _was_ alone. Alone with Alexiane – and a decision.

Cassandra took a deep breath and pressed harder until Alexiane collapsed.

_For what it’s worth: I take no pleasure in this._

 

* * *

 

 

“Leli...” Morrigan stuttered helplessly, at the very last moment finding the wits to avoid another nickname-disaster by hastily adding “...ana?”

Leliana approached, shaking her head and barely hiding her amusement. “You _really_ are surprised, no? And here I thought I had been too obvious.”

_Obvious?_

It was just a single word, getting lost in the flood of thoughts and impressions in her head, stunned by what was happening right before her eyes – by _who_ was happening right before her eyes.

_Leliana._

It was hard to grasp, but here she was, the wisps of red hair visible under the hood blazing like the warm fire of the closest brazier. The blue eyes almost inviting her, drawing her in. The warm smile...

_She has got me. Right now, right here, I am hers._

There was a part of her that just wanted to wrap her arms around her, kiss her right here. No talking necessary. But she was far too overwhelmed to do anything but stand still and stare. And there was another voice, asking herself the uncharacteristic question if she should actually _dare_ to do that. Could someone be watching? Were they truly alone?

Leliana answered that question a moment later, taking the initiative as she pressed her lips against Morrigan’s. If there had been any breath left to take, she would have sucked it out of her right here.

Morrigan barely had time to reciprocate before it was over already, as Leliana seemed to pry herself away with a strange look on her face. Surprise maybe?

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she stated, curiously enough sounding matter-of-factly more than anything else.

_And in control._

Yes, there was something...some aura maybe. The posture. The controlled look on her face. She even looked taller right now.

_In a way she is. ‘tis Leliana, yes. But ‘tis also the other one. Sister Nightingale._

The Left Hand of the Divine. The bard and the spymaster. The one who schemed and manipulated and...

“You _knew_.” Morrigan breathed out heavily, as the realization finally dawned upon her. “You knew I was here all along!”

“From the very beginning.”

A smile. Actual amusement. A chuckle.

_Leliana’s chuckle._

And Morrigan dreaded the words which would undoubtedly come next...

“I know you Morrigan,” Leliana said, naturally, “It was obvious that you could not resist the temptation when I told you about the Empress’ fascination for the dark secrets of magic.”

Sudden defiance rose inside Morrigan, unwilling to let herself become the passive player in this. “Well, well, ‘twould seem I am not nearly as transparent as you think then. I did not decide to go to Celene before...”

“...before the rumors of the Empress interest in the occult followed you to every tavern and every inn in Val Royeaux?”

And once more Morrigan’s breath was gone. How...?

“Yes, I figured that some ‘casual’ piece of gossip out of my mouth would not be enough to ignite more than a spark of interest. And I could hardly ask you to do it or – Maker forbid! – offer my assistance.” Her smile broadened – Nightingale’s smile, that was. “So it is quite the fortunate coincidence that the little rumors would come up in nearly every establishment you visited, no? Forming a picture, an idea...a _challenge_.”

Morrigan nodded slowly, trying to wrap her mind around the situation and once more having difficulties to see what was going on – what _had been_ going on.

“Those were your people? You had people following me?”

“Just as a little incentive. And to be honest: You _were_ new to Val Royeaux. Back then, I thought there was no harm in having someone look after you.”

“Look after _me_?” Morrigan’s voice was hoarse, sounding much more defensive than she had intended. “’twas _I_ who did all this to look _after you_!”

“Then I think we are both very well looked after, yes?”

A giggle.

_Leliana again._

It mattered not. There was something else springing to her mind now. Something else that the Sister Nightingale person always did to people. A troubling realization...

“You _played_ me!”

“I did no such thing! I never would.” Leliana looked almost insulted by the mere idea. Maybe she actually was. Or frightened by the implications?

“Morrigan, all this was your doing! You had made up your mind to stay here ever since Kirkwall and we both know that. If it hadn’t been Celene’s court, it would have been someplace else. Yes, I may have provided some incentive, but _you_ decided that it had to be the Imperial Court. You had a choice. And you alone succeeded, Morrigan! Maker’s breath, you managed to win the _Empress of Orlais_ over to your side! That is your doing, not mine.” And suddenly Leliana laughed again. “Think of it: Not even the Empress could resist _you._ I...I am so proud of you,my love.”

The last words were almost a whisper, but they echoed in her ears, sending down a warm shiver. Everywhere. Had anyone ever been proud of her?

_Well, me obviously._

Though that hardly counted. Hearing Leliana say this, it was...different. That warm shiver was hard to fight down...

 “I barely did anything,” Morrigan stated, trying to gain control again. Trying to fight that soothing feeling. “Most of the time I merely waited and observed.”

Leliana smiled. Oh, that smile... “But that is the most essential part of the Game, my love! _Especially_ at the beginning, it all comes down to survive and wait for the right moment to strike. You have no idea how many fail because they lack the patience to see that.”

With an effort, Morrigan resisted the urge to just give in and leave it all at that. She _wanted_ to leave it at that and just savour the moment.

_And yet..._

Leliana might claim she had not played her, but there was one thing that begged to differ, was there not?

“Well, let us say I did succeed, then. Which I obviously did. But with your man following me the whole time, I presume?”

“I was a bit surprised you hadn’t him figured out, to be honest.”

“How could I have possible known he was working for you?”

“I told you, no? Well, in a way I did.”

For a moment Morrigan did not have the slightest clue what she was talking about. Until somewhere in that mess of thoughts inside her head, a memory stood out clear as day.

_‘So what is the conclusion then? Shall I trust the grumpy ones? - ‘Well, that certainly worked out for me, no?’_

Yes, alright. She had told her. _In a way_...

“But he _said_ he was working for Briala!” Morrigan burst out, immediately biting her lip. It was not only a foolish statement – it was also plain wrong. That was not how it had happened.

And of course, Sister Nightingale would already know that.

“No, Morrigan. _You_ jumped to that conclusion and spat out Briala’s name even before he could answer, no? All he had to do was to take that opening you so kindly offered. A mistake you do not want to repeat when playing the Game, by the way.” Leliana’s face got a reflective look, as her mind seemed to wander off. “It is a shame, though: I would have been interested to hear how he might have reacted if you had not prompted that name for him. Would he have given up mine? Or would he have been as quick to come up with another story as I expect him to be? You see, Mason is still young and needs some testing under pressure.”

Mason?

_‘Pierre’. The Orlesian word for ‘stone’._

For a man named Mason...

_Oh my, you probably came up with that yourself, did you not?_

“Though from what I gather, dealing with you has been quite the challenge in itself, so I should note give him credit for that, no?” Leliana laughed.  

“So you _did_ send him after me?” Morrigan insisted.

“Not at all! As a matter of fact, he had direct orders to stay away from you.”

Orders.

The word alone conquered the room, giving Morrigan, once more, a clear angle of what was so ridiculously wrong with all this: Leliana was the one leading the conversation. She was in complete control. Because that was what that _other_ woman did.

Nightingale gave orders.

She told people what to do.

She did ‘ _testing under pressure’_.

And at this very moment, Morrigan was not sure if she was utterly enchanted by the sheer power and strength Leliana emanated...or frightened.

_And to think that there was a time when I considered her harmless..._

“And you ask me to believe ‘tis a mere coincidence that your spy happened to be at the palace?” Morrigan asked.

Naturally, Leliana shook her head. “No, he had an assignment, of course. Briala.”

“The Empress’ spymaster.”

“Yes, I suspected she might be that. But I needed confirmation, so I send him to take a close look at her. A _very_ close look.” A wicked smile played around her lips. “Also, he was asked to observe who works for whom at the Imperial Court.”

“...and to plant Alexiane’s journal.”

“Yes, as soon as I found out about her.”

“...a journal you have forged.”

Somehow, Morrigan had expected to catch her off-balance with that, but as it turned out that had been too much to hope for.

Without any hesitation (or emotions at that), Leliana replied, “Sometimes it is necessary to tell a small lie when it contains the bigger truth.”

“Which is...?”

“Let us just say that the Chantry is corrupted from the inside...”

“Well, well, such surprise.”

“...and that there are people selling out mages like Alexiane to do dark deeds at the prospect of freedom.” Leliana finished. If she had been irritated by Morrigan’s constant interruptions, she gave no sign of that.

_That just used to work with the young Chantry Sister back in the days._

But there was one more way she might get any emotional reaction out of this woman. One last road to go down. “What will happen to her? To Alexiane?”

And for the first time, Leliana did hesitate for a split-second. “She might have been just a pawn, but she still played her part willingly,” she answered coldly.

_No actual reply. Of course._

“Colorful words for a rather mundane truth.” Morrigan probed.

“What do you want to hear? That she will probably be made Tranquil?” And there it was: Her tone finally betrayed a sign of some emotional connection to this topic.

“Yes, she will, Morrigan. And she will not be the last to go through that. I wish there were other ways, but we can’t oppose the Seekers on every occasion.”

_‘We’. Interesting._

“Will she talk?”

“About you?” Leliana shook her head. “No. I will ensure that she will never speak of Lady Rione again – at least not in a manner that will make her seem anything else than a lunatic. Besides that, I’ll make sure that in a few days she will be sent to a small cloister far, far away.”

And that was that. End of story. Another problem dealt with. Another threat averted.

_Another day the Divine’s robes remain stainless._

“So this is what you do? All the time?”

“It is my duty, Morrigan. Justinia tries to make it all better, but in order to get there we have to make...compromises.”

There was silence after that. And for a moment, Morrigan contemplated the oddity of this situation. Which was not the fact that Leliana would utter such a thing – but the simple truth that a few years ago they might have had a similar argument with reversed roles. As much as she refused to believe that the cause Leliana dedicated herself to truly was the ‘greater good’...

_...who am I, of all people, to question the validity of sacrifices for something greater? I am hardly alien to the concept that to achieve something, you have to go down a rough road from time to time._

And in the end, Alexiane was not particularly an innocent, was she?

“Morrigan?”

Leliana’s voice interrupted her thoughts all of a sudden. She had barely noticed the silence until now.

“Yes?”

“Why did you come to the Grand Cathedral every night?”

Morrigan was taken aback for a moment.

_What a curious question to ask at this point!_

“Well, to see you,” she replied much softer than she had planned. So she added a bit of acid suspicion: “But most likely, you knew that already as well, did you not?”

“Yes.” Leliana replied. “But I think I needed to hear it.”

And for the first time, Nightingale was entirely gone for a moment and Morrigan looked into the eyes of a woman who was...

_...scared? Insecure? Wondering?_

Once more, Leliana found her poise faster than Morrigan, doing the only thing that could restore the balance from before: she kissed her – and once more, Morrigan did not resist. Or try to take control. Or anything else.

_Do not spoil this. ‘tis rare as it is._

It was also over too quick for Morrigan’s liking.

Breathlessly, she fixated Leliana. “So, what happens now?”

“Now you are part of the Imperial Court.”

“And you are part of the Grand Cathedral.”

Silence.

Then Leliana nodded sadly.

“We can never meet. Officially, that is.“

“So...now we live in the same city and it changes naught?”

“Oh, it does. There are...ways.” A cheeky smile returned to Leliana’s face. The smile of a woman with a plan. “For example, Pierre’s reports reminded me of how you could take the form of a _raven_ , no?”

“Yes?” Morrigan frowned.

“Excellent. Well, let’s just say that I have a few ideas...” she giggled at something hilariously funny, which obviously went on inside her head.

_I am going to regret admitting to this, am I not?_

“But for now I have to leave. Cassandra might already have captured Alexiane and grow impatient.” Leliana rolled her eyes. “It would be _so_ like her.”

“Cassandra?”

_The woman outside. The Seeker._

And the name did ring a bell. Leliana had mentioned her before, had she not? And not exactly in pleasant ways...

As if she could read her mind, Leliana replied: “A woman you should better not run into. And a woman who must most definitely _never_ see us together. She gets...impulsive.”

Then she smiled, obviously pushing aside the unpleasant thoughts and pulled up Morrigan’s mask. For a moment, she looked her in the eyes and just stood there.

“Soon, my love.”

With that, Leliana planted a last kiss on her lips, pulled up her hood and made for the door.

Morrigan took a deep breath.

“Leliana?”

“Yes?” she turned around once more.

Morrigan pointed at her robe with a laconic smile. “Grey – ‘tis just not your color.”

Leliana made a face. “I know. But I already have plans for something different.” She chuckled, not even waiting for Morrigan’s reply and turning towards the door. “But I do like your dress,” she said over her shoulder. “Oh, and I _love_ the shoes, of course!”

_Yes. Of course you do._

And with that she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, so you were able to restrain yourself from killing her outright, yes?”

It was Leliana’s voice from behind her, but Cassandra decided to ignore the comment and keep her eyes on the templars loading Alexiane into the dark coach. She was still unconscious, but the fact that her hands and feet were bound and a black hood was placed over her head had – to Leliana – probably given away that she wasn’t a corpse. Yet.

_And thanks to me, she won’t be for a long time. If the alternative is better, though..._

Once Alexiane had vanished into the inside of the coach, Cassandra slowly turned around to finally face Leliana. “Yes. And I take it you are done with your little pets?”

For a moment, there was an odd expression on Leliana’s face, one Cassandra did not see often.

_Genuine surprise? Or confusion?_

“What do you mean?”

Cassandra sighed. “Your pets. Don’t take me for a fool, Leliana. You wouldn’t have insisted on coming here and then just disappear into the chantry without reason. You met with your people here, didn’t you? Your spies at the palace?”

That earned her a smile as if she had just suggested something highly amusing, before she got serious again. “My people, Cassandra,” Leliana stated, “are just that: people. Not pets. I don’t own them.”

It was hard to read on her face if she just said that out of politeness or if that woman was naïve enough to genuinely _believe_ it as well.

_Oh, but you do! You do own them. Even if you try to convince yourself otherwise._

Cassandra had been having men and women under her command for long enough to know her fair share about loyalty and obedience. With Leliana’s agents it was more than that, though: they were utterly devoted to her. Which would have been fine with Cassandra. Devotion was good as long as it was the inspirational kind. But more often than not she wondered if that was truly the case here.

_Is it devotion – or fear?_

The lines could be blurry from time to time – and they most definitely were in this case. A spymaster’s work was delicate, Cassandra knew about that, but Leliana’s enthusiasm and dedication for her work could appear somewhat extreme every now and then.

Once she had even approached Cassandra, giving her the names and inns a few of her recruits were staying in and asked her to ‘capture’ them unannounced in the middle of the night and interrogate them as hard as she would do with an apostate, just to find out if they would remain adamant or – under a Seeker’s pressure – try to clear things up and give away for whom they were actually working. The ones who had persisted and not given up Leliana’s name were now among her best. The other ones…

Cassandra never knew what happened to the other ones. Were they sent away? Or did they disappear in a more...permanent way?

She had spoken with Justinia about that, making her concerns known, but the Divine had just smiled it away solemnly. ‘You don’t have to approve of what she does, Cassandra or how she does it,’ she had said, ‘In fact, it is good that you do not. Otherwise that would make you too much of a Left Hand yourself – and a Divine should not have two left hands, don’t you think?’

And that had been the end of that. No point in arguing.

So, instead of falling for this conversation again right now, Cassandra just gave a grunt and left it at that. Without another word, they both got into the coach, taking place next to the Lady Alexiane. Or maybe: the apostate Alexiane. Yes, most likely that.

It was only after the coach started moving forward that Leliana finally broke the silence and pointed toward the restrained woman. “Did she give you a lot of trouble?”

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, not sure how much she should say. Then she decided that Leliana didn’t need to know all the details about the fight – and she definitely had no intention to mention the fact that, if it hadn’t been for the unknown elf woman, she might actually have lost it. 

“She resisted, yes. Quite fiercely. As was to be expected. She must have known that she had been found out. Someone shouted a warning before we arrived, but that one got away.”

_There. That should be enough._

And it was. Leliana only gave her a curious look, but decided to leave it at that. Cassandra had almost expected further questions about the person who had given the warning, but Leliana took that silently. Probably, the fact that the people Alexiane had been working for had their own eyes and ears at the Palace was no big reveal for the Left Hand. There were always spies where there was power, after all.

“You will see her to the cells personally, yes?” Leliana asked curiously.

“Of course. I will also do the questioning myself.”

“No, you won’t.”

The words echoed in her ears.

“No?”

“That is correct. I will question her.”

Cassandra stared at her blankly. What new game was that?

“Says who?” she asked impulsively, but she bit her lip just after the words came out.

_You already know the answer, don’t you?_

“Justinia.”

_Of course. Still…_

“But…this is ridiculous! Why should _you_ question her? This is Seeker business!” Cassandra had a hard time concealing her anger – and failed at that spectacularly. A fact that became even more infuriating by the calmness on Leliana’s face.

“I already told you why: Because Justinia said so.”

“I will not stand for this! I shall talk to her about that.”

“You are free to do so. But you have also heard your orders.” Leliana replied without the slightest hint of satisfaction. She was just stating the facts after all, wasn’t she?

_And you know it’s useless to talk with Justinia. You know how they are._

She had been through it many times. Justinia would always listen to her counsel, no doubt. And she could not be said to give any preference to either her or Leliana. Definitely not. But when she and Leliana had decided something among themselves, the Divine would always stick to that.

But why would she decide that Leliana should do the questioning in this case? What was the plan behind this?

Suddenly, a suspicion rose in her. Politics? Could the judgment on Alexiane already have been decided? Could the Divine be unwilling to let a Seeker’s perspective interfere with what she had planned for Alexiane? But this would mean…

“You can’t possible plan to let her get away with it! The Lord Seeker will be outraged if a proven apostate should be allowed to…”

She didn’t get any further than that as Leliana shook her head decidedly. “Trust me, Cassandra: I have no intention to do that. The case is very clear here and Alexiane will either be executed or undergo Lord Seeker Lambert’s precious Rite of Tranquility.”

She spat the word out, but at least she made it clear that there were no other options, dissolving Cassandra’s suspicions of Alexiane going free. “He will lay his hands on her early enough. Justinia just asked me to assess the situation myself first. You know as well as I that this is not an isolated case – and in order to get to the root of the problem inside the Chantry, I need to recover other names first. _If_ there are others.”

Cassandra relaxed a little. She was by no means happy about any of this, but at least it made sense. And Leliana _had_ been the one who had informed her about the schemes that were happening right inside the White Spire. Grudgingly, Cassandra had to admit that _this_ part was indeed very much Leliana’s job.

She didn’t say that aloud, naturally.

Instead, she barely commented it with an unsatisfied sound. Which, in turn, made Leliana laugh: “Oh, don’t worry, Cassandra. You have done your work on this one. And from what I gather there lies plenty of work ahead for you. For both, you and me, as a matter of fact.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cassandra frowned.

“I can’t speak of it yet. But Justinia will tell you soon enough. Just trust me on this: Dire times are coming – and they might just call for…unconventional measures. Justinia knows that. And she has plans.”

Cassandra sighed. Yes, of course Justinia had.

She took a deep breath. This had been a long night.

 

* * *

 

 

As she passed the last of the statues on the way to the guest quarters, Morrigan was still caught in an internal struggle.

_How long until ‘tis becoming embarrassing? Or is it already?_

Yes, she was aware of the many troubling utterances during the conversation with Leliana that should alarm her.

Yes, the mere fact that Leliana had not only known everything from the beginning but also added her fair share to actually manoeuvring her into all this, would usually be enough to enrage her.

And yes, she _knew_ she should worry about the implications of some of her statements beyond that.

But – and here was the embarrassing part – right here, right now, all she could think about was that one moment.

_‘I am so proud of you, my love.’_

It should be infuriating that even now – with Leliana and her entourage long gone – the mere memory of this sentence was enough to _fill_ her. The warm shiver was back. It was lasting. And it made her...happy.

Now wasn’t that just pathetic?

She came to a sudden halt as her eyes, thankfully, alarmed her to something ahead of her.

The building with the guest-quarters seemed peaceful, though the fact that there were no guardsmen standing there should be just as curious as the fact that everything was quiet there. Of course, the templars were gone already – and hopefully that meant Alexiane as well – so there was nothing to actually _see_ there anymore. But still, Morrigan had somehow expected an excited crowd of bystanders, loudly discussing what had happened here. Spinning tales. Creating rumors for the days and weeks to come.

Maybe they were still scared? Maybe that Seeker-woman had left an impression and no one dared to come out anymore?

_Or maybe she has just dissolved them into thin air just by looking at them. She certainly seemed the type..._

Anyway, now nothing was there.

Nothing except the figure in the doorway. That silhouette which had caught Morrigan’s attention...and which had frozen the moment it had become aware of her approaching.

Morrigan recognized that figure.

“Well, well, why am I not surprised to meet you here, Briala?”

Briala crossed her arms, a humourless smile on her lips. “Lady Morrigan. I had almost expected you to show up earlier.”

“Why? Because I am so fond of templars?”

“Oh, I had figured you the type who would not care much as long as it would give you the chance to gloat at your rival’s...departure.”

“You underestimated me then, ‘twould seem.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Yes, I think I might have done so.” Briala replied reluctantly and – to Morrigan’s surprise – it seemed an honest answer. She had almost certainly expected another witty repartee on the elf’s behalf.

“So, they got her? Alexiane?”

“Hah! Yes, _they_ got her,” Briala replied, leaving the emphasis open to interpretation.

“Is she...?”

“Dead? No. They took her alive. Barely.”

Morrigan nodded solemnly.

_Looks like you do get back to the Circle then. Hopefully the mark will look as good on your forehead as you had expected it on mine._

Strangely enough, the thought did not give her any satisfaction. None at all.

“I assume, Her Radiance has already informed you about your victory?” Briala asked.

“She did.”

“Good. You do not expect any congratulations on my behalf, I hope?”

“Never. And why would I care about a mere _handmaid’s_ blessings?” Morrigan stated. “Unless, of course, you are _more_ than that...,” she added with a knowing smile.

Briala nodded. Of course, the spymaster took the hint. It was hard to tell if she cared about Morrigan knowing her actual role, though.

“It should be...interesting working with you, then,” Briala simply stated and took her leave without even awaiting a reply.

“Yes,” Morrigan said quietly to herself, “Yes, it should.”


	7. Défait

“Bria? Are you there?”

Celene’s voice brought her back to reality.

Back to the hair.

It was an odd sensation, being lost in thoughts like that while actually having a conversation. Well, and a duty to fulfil. But while her hands were still at work, fixing Celene’s hair after the morning _toilette_ (she was – besides everything else – still the Empress handmaid, after all) and creating an elaborate style which most supplicants and nobles she’d meet today would undoubtedly wish to copy soon enough, it was much harder to cover up the fact that her mind had not been fully concentrated. She cursed herself for letting things slide like that. It was not worthy of a spymaster.

“Apologies, I was...distraught.” The chance of Celene not noticing her absent-mindedness was slim. Also, Celene’s last remark had escaped her ears anyway, so there was no use pretending she _had_ been listening.

“Oh, still heartbroken over the loss of your little admirer?” Celene said rather amusedly, obviously not too agitated about her spymaster’s lack of concentration.

“Yes, very much so, Your Radiance.” Briala replied drily, hiding the truthfulness of the statement under an ironical tone.

It was no actual heartbreak, of course, as Celene well enough knew, but a rather serious concern over the fact that the young man who had given her the eye for weeks had so suddenly disappeared without a trace.

“Poor Bria. Not used to being the one left behind, are you?” Celene smiled, blessedly ignorant of how Briala’s concerns were very real, even if in a different way than their ironic conversation suggested.

_It’s better this way. No need to alarm her over something that might just be my mind playing tricks on me. She has enough to worry about as it is._

And yet the timing couldn’t have been more curious: Young Pierre had allegedly left the Palace’s service just before the ball and not been seen since. Since the whole staff had been too busy preparing for the big event to even notice his absence, the letter stating his immediate leave in order to tend to his ill-gotten mother (what a dubious reason!) had only been found the next day.

_Suspicious timing indeed! Leaving just before the grandest event a commoner like him is likely to witness in his whole life..._

His mother must have gotten very ill, very sudden, then. He had not even asked for last week’s pay, which was even stranger – though there was the distinct possibility that he might have taken his fair share before leaving...

And yet, Briala wondered if she might have missed something. Could he have been connected to the burglary? Or one of Alexiane’s men – which could, by extension, also make him one of Gaspard’s? Had she underestimated the man?

_Still: No need to let_ her _know about that._

“That must be it,” she replied simply, willing to end this part of the conversation as well as that stupid hairdo. “But you were asking?”

“Ah, yes. I was just wondering if the Lady Morrigan has settled in well enough?”

“As far as I can tell.” Briala answered sourly.

She still did not trust that woman or believed in her usefulness to an extend that would justify her new position at court. If it had been Briala’s call, Celene would have just forgone the whole ‘arcane advisor’-business for good. But there was little to do about that now, except to keep her eyes open. “I will meet her in the afternoon to discuss setting up that laboratory of hers,” she continued, not really looking forward to that meeting at all.

“Good. Any news from Madame Vivienne?”

“She has been delayed and sends her regrets. She shall be here the day after tomorrow if all goes well.”

“Very well, then I shall make the announcement tomorrow.”

_Yes, of course. The arcane advisor has to be installed before Vivienne even hears rumors of it, right?_

“This will...certainly not go unnoticed,” Briala stated carefully. It was the understatement of the year, naturally. Madame de Fer would be outraged to hear of Celene taking an arcane advisor beside her court mage. And she most definitely would not be the only one in shock – something like that was unprecedented after all. Concerned voices would arise of the Empress giving the mages too much influence. And it would be Briala’s task to see that these voices did not grow too loud...

_It is very much typical for Celene, is it not? When she considers something necessary, she does not care in the least if it is unprecedented or unconventional._

Celene smiled a triumphant smile. “Just make sure Lady Morrigan is well prepared for what she is about to expect. I would not want her to fall prey to Madame de Fer.”

“I see little chances of that happening, Celene.”

Indeed the mere notion of Lady Morrigan simply bowing to Madame Vivienne was ridiculous enough to make them both chuckle. More likely, those two would be at each other’s throat after a few seconds.

Briala sighed. It sure never got dull in the Palace.

“One more question, Bria.” Celene’s voice was getting serious again. ”I want the Divine informed about the last night’s events concerning Lady Alexiane. Would you see to that?”

Briala turned her head in surprise. “I am fairly certain the tidings have already reached her, Celene. Or do you expect the Seekers to keep this a secret?”

“Maybe not,” Celene shook her head, “but they might leave out the part where it was _us_ that gave the crucial information...which would be a shame. Justinia has been a dear ally so far and I consider it only just to send her a little reminder of how _we_ lent the Chantry a hand in this issue, do you not? After all, it would not have bidden well for the Divine if her own people had demonstrated their inability with a dangerous threat that emerged from their own ranks. Oh, the scandal!”

_Clever woman. That’s why you’re still on the throne. And why I love you._

“So that is your way of saying ‘You owe me’ to the Divine, then?” Briala asked.

“I wouldn’t put it this way.” Celene said gravely, “But I fear that dangerous times lie ahead of us, Bria. And it can never hurt to remind your friends that _they_ are your friends – with all the benefits that come along with that...as well as all the duties.”

Indeed. Friends, or at least loyal allies, were a rare resource in Orlais these days. And the Divine would without a doubt be a useful one. Though they had to be careful, considering that Justinia had a potential dispute at her own doorsteps – and the way the underlying conflict between mages and templars would develop, would reflect on how the Divine was perceived as well. Depending on the outcome she could be an ally as well as a liability.

Briala smiled.

_But isn’t that the beauty of it?_

“I shall see to it, Your Radiance,” she answered more formally than necessary.

As always, the Game would go on.

 

* * *

Just when Alexiane thought that the cacophony of agonized wails and howls would finally make her eardrums burst, hopefully bringing an abrupt end to the endless screams and sobbing, it ceased.

Well, not all of it. There was always crying and despair in the deeper cells of the White Spire; young mages left alone and terrified by the mere thought of the things to come once the templars or Seekers returned for the questioning – or the judgement. But at least the loudest wails had suddenly stopped.

It took some time for her to realize that those had been her own.

She had never been down here. Being of noble birth and coming here on her free will had spared her this fate. So she had only heard horrible tales of the cells.

Never had she expected to end here herself.

_Maker, what has gone wrong?_

When she had awoken on the cold, damp stone floor of the tiny cell, she had panicked. Of course.

Then, for a moment, she had calmed herself. This was all a mistake after all. She was one of the _good_ mages. One of those who had always cooperated. One of those that had been accepted. Someone would come to clear all this up. One of her friends.

But after being forced to listen to the sickening cries of young souls, thrown in here without comprehending what was happening to them – or, for many who had just shown the first signs of magic: what was happening _inside_ them – after a few minutes  (or maybe hours?) of _that_ something inside her had just broken.

No one would come.

She had attacked people. She had wounded people. By Andraste’s Grace, she had attacked a _Seeker_! There was no coming back from that.

_And somehow they knew everything. Somehow they learnt about my allies._

Her allies. None of them would come either. They would be on the run already, knowing what fate awaited them if they got caught. She would be lucky if none of them jumped to the conclusion to silence her for good. They could do that, could they not? A little bribe here, a little favor there...

That’s when the tears had come. The first wave, anyway. She had constrained herself to not cry out aloud, not become part of this maddening orchestra. She had wept in silence instead.

Next: Thoughts of her father – he would come to save his girl, would he not?

Oh how silly those thoughts had been!

He had been a kind man, understanding even – and she had burnt all the bridges with her loud, arrogant, defiant nature, claiming (even when she went with the templars) that she was destined for something greater, that he was a fool to not join in the Game and at least _try_ to raise above his station. That, someday, she would succeed where he had failed. Become someone of note.

The second wave of tears had followed.

_Pride. He always said that it would undo me. And it lead me to my ‘friends’..._

Well, this had turned out for the worst. Now she was here, facing judgment alone, forgotten to the rest of the world. Even if her father had somehow forgiven her, he would never even hear of this.

Her friends would not come. Her father would not come. No one would come.

No one except for the woman with the blue eyes.

She had entered Alexiane’s cell after the second wave – alone. That had seemed odd, considering that she was arrested for being a potentially dangerous apostate. And yet the woman had not shown any signs of fear. She had almost seemed compassionate.

Alexiane remembered the pale, but friendly face under the grey hood, and red hair. Well, maybe red, maybe brown. It was hard to be certain with the little light down here.

But she was certain about the blue eyes. Calming, gentle, friendly.

_A soothing voice, too._

And for a moment, Alexiane had hoped again. Hoped that if she cooperated, answered all the questions and – for once in her life – stayed humble, the woman might put in a good word for her and help to end this in a good way.

The woman’s questions were mainly about names. About who was and who was not involved in the plan.

Alexiane eagerly gave every name that she knew but it didn’t take long to realize that she had little information that was new to the woman. That’s when the blue eyes started to assume a bored look, slightly annoyed even when Alexiane had to admit that some other names the woman gave were unknown to Alexiane.

The longer the talk held on, the more Alexiane realized that she was proving to be without and value to the woman. She tried her best to give any little detail she could remember, but it did not seem to help.

Just as the woman was about to leave, Alexiane had grasped for a last straw and cried out in despair: ‘She’s a witch! Lady Rione! She is an apostate!’

_Big mistake._

She had no idea what she had done, but when the woman had turned around, all the warmth had been gone from her glance. ‘You better forget that name, Lady Alexiane.’

In her numbing desperation, Alexiane had not understood at all. Frantically, she had insisted: ‘But it is true!’

‘Nothing of that is true.’

Dumbfounded, Alexiane had just stared at her, unable to shut up. ‘I’m telling you, my lady! She is...’

‘She is an illusion. A memory of some woman you knew as a child.’

Alexiane had opened her mouth in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand...’

‘I do,’ the woman had said coldly. ‘I have read your journal.’

‘My...journal? I don’t have a journal!’

And then the woman had told her all about the journal. About the manic ramblings inside. About her supposed love for the Grand Duke. And about Lady Rione, a woman who, depending on which page you were reading, either was an old childhood friend, a rival back at the Circle, a whore she had frequently visited, a mistress of her father’s – or some random woman she had (obviously) imagined to meet at the court.

_According to the journal, Lady Rione – or at least everything Alexiane said about her – was a delusion of a madwoman._

Mind-boggling as that was, the way the woman with the blue eyes had told the story, Alexiane was almost on the brink of believing it herself. Oh, she had protested, claimed that she never had written any journal, that this was all some trick.

It mattered not.

She couldn’t even tell if the woman actually _believed_ what said or if she knew the journal for the lie it was and just didn’t care. And yet, Alexiane knew that it made as little difference as her protests.

They had a journal. They had a confession. They had names. And they had a mage who had attacked a Seeker.

They had her.

The rest had been screaming and howling (the third wave of tears and agony), but the woman had already left by then.

And here Alexiane was now.  Alone, defeated, knowing that the worst was yet to come. Again the sobbing started. Tears of one who knew she was damned.

_They will kill me. Or worse, they will make me..._

She wanted to scream, but there was nothing left in her lungs.

_Why not just..._

...lie down and die? She closed her eyes, despite better knowledge hoping that if she could just stop breathing and hold that long enough, she might manage the inevitable in a less painful way. She tried to clear her mind, for a moment not thinking of anything else and diving into the blackness. But as soon as she did, the blue eyes were there again. Gentle and comforting at first. But then, the moment  she had mentioned Rione...

“Eyes like ice. Cold and cunning, calculating what must come...”

_Yes, I couldn’t have said it any..._

Her eyes sprung open in sudden panic as she realized the words hadn’t come out of her mouth at all, frantically searching the room...

Then she saw him.

Alexiane spun around violently, pressing herself against the wall because that’s all there was – a wall. Spreading her arms in front of her she stared at the boy in front of her. A filthy little creature, light hair, messily covering his pale face.

And he just stood there and stared at her.

“Who...are you?” she managed, panting.

It took a moment of utter silence, as if he didn’t know how to speak – or didn’t want to. “I,” he said slowly, as if seriously contemplating the question, “I don’t know.”

Then he tilted his head to the side, eyeing her curiously just as if he had never seen a person before.

_Maker, what is going on?_

“But you...can see me.” He suddenly said. “Why can you see me?”

“What?”

A shiver of pure terror ran down her spine, trying to figure out who he was. Trying to make sense of his words.

“They never see me,” he continued, lowering his head and looking at his feet. “Alone, abandoned, avoided. They don’t see me and yet they evade me. Must I fade away? But you can! You can see me. You can talk to me.”

“What do you want?”

_Are you going to kill me? Did they send you?_

Again he stared at her blankly as if she had asked him the most complicated question.

“I want to help. Do you want me to help?”

_Help? He wants to_ help _?_

Nothing of this made any sense. How could he have gotten into her cell? Why was he surprised that she could see him?

_Am I going insane for real?_

Was this boy a creation of her own mind? A delusion like the Rione in the journal (... _who was real,_ she reminded herself)? Was she finally losing it?

And what did he mean by ‘help’?

Without a warning a dark image broke through her thoughts. No, it couldn’t be, could it?

_He suddenly appeared. No one saw him. He wants to help..._

“Are you...are you a demon?”

It was impossible. She had succeeded in her Harrowing! She was _safe_ , was she not?

_No, we never are. We can train all our lives, but one moment of despair may still push us over the edge._

His facial features were distorted as he just seemed to grasp what she had asked him, as if he didn’t comprehend the words at first.

Then he screamed.

“ _No!! No, no, no!_ Darkness, dampness, damnation. Not the house again. Never again.”

_What is he talking about?_

In one fluid motion, he was on his feet, but just as Alexiane braced herself for an attack, she realized that he didn’t move toward her. He was pacing up and down the room, never turning his eyes from her, piercing through her skull. “Pale eyes. Pale face. Pale sheets.”

_Wait, what?_

Her eyes widened, not understanding a word of what he said...

 “Tears. Each breath is anguish. A promise. ‘You must show them, Alexiane.’”

...but the words were not meant to be _heard_ at all. Instead, they painted a picture. A woman in white. In her bed.

_‘You must show them, Alexiane. You must show them what you’re worth.’_

Her final words. No, not her final words. Those she had only read about in Father’s letter to the Circle.

_But they were her last words to me._

“They came too early. You couldn’t even say goodbye,” the boy said, his voice suddenly calm and sad.

Alexiane nodded in tears. Yes, they had come too early. Maker, she had been _willing_ to go. She had not resisted at all. They knew she wouldn’t run away. There was no need to take her to the Circle that day.

“Why couldn’t they wait just one more day?” he asked.

_Yes. Why indeed? One more day...and I might have said goodbye._

Her head sunk in her hands, half expecting more tears to come. But there were no more left. How could there, after all this?

“I want to help.”

She pulled her hands back again and faced him defiantly, no longer caring if he might be a demon or a killer sent by her former allies. Why did he bother her at all? Why didn’t he just go? Why all this madness?

“ _How_?” her voice was hoarse already, but challenging. “How can you possibly help? Can you get me out?”

“Out? No, I cannot get you out. But...but I can get you _out_.”

That didn’t make any sense either. She shook her head at the weird boy, ready to give another angry reply.

But then she understood.

_He is right. There is no way out of here. But there is a way_ out _._

“You mean...”

“Frightened. Fear. Fate. No return. The things to come. They take your dreams, your heart, your mind. A shell.”

_The Rite of Tranquility. The only thing that’s in my future. Only pain and misery. And then nothingness. The price to pay._

Unless it ended before that.

“Who are you?” she asked once more.

“I don’t know.”

And she believed him.

Slowly she nodded. There was nothing more here for her.

Not down here in these cells, where the walls constantly echoing the cries of the ones who shared her fate.

Not in the hands of the templars when they came for further questioning – or with the judgment already?

Not here in this life.

_Maker have mercy._

“Do it. Help me,” she could hear her own voice as if from a distance. The boy was only a silhouette that might have been in another world for all she could see. But she did see the shimmering of something shiny in his hand.

She took a deep breath as he moved forward towards her. Oddly enough, now that the decision was made, there was no fear. Only acceptance. And relief.

She knew that the boy was an ugly and filthy thing, but she couldn’t see that now as she looked in his eyes. They were not as beautiful as those of the woman. But they, too, were gentle in a way.

Alexiane expected it to be cold when it happened, but as she opened up at the blade’s kiss, it was actually warm. Warm for the first time in ages.

Alexiane smiled at the boy, for the last time trying to get an answer to the first question – this time putting it right: “ _What_ are you?”

Again, he hesitated for a moment.

“I...I am the Ghost of the Spire,” he muttered, surprised at his own words.

And Alexiane believed him.


	8. Épilogue

“...are you sure about that, dear? Not that it wouldn’t be...entertaining to see you at the soirée, but you do seem to have a few difficulties to understand the basic concept of color, don’t you? I mean, is it really so hard to grasp that dark purple is not a seasonable color _at all_?” The woman raised an eyebrow, just as if the condescending tone was not conclusive enough. “And while it is amusing – and somehow befitting – that you seem to prefer to walk around like a peasant you are aware that by refusing to wear a mask like a child, you not only embarrass yourself but the whole court as well?”

Morrigan routinely put on a thin, indifferent smile; the kind that unsubtly indicated that, while she did somewhat acknowledge the fact that she was inside a conversation, she really did not much care for any word being said.

She would never get Lady Vivienne.

Oh, she _did_ get the self-righteous tone that marked every second sentence or so as an insult – she would just never _understand_ how that woman could actually believe any of this nonsense would bother her.

_‘tis a waste of potential, this one._

Even if Morrigan didn’t like to admit it at all – most likely she’d refuse the mere notion if asked – there had been bright minds coming out of the Circles. Mages that, despite the Chantry’s restrictions, somehow managed to keep their efforts focused on ancient knowledge, mysteries of old, wisdom that was worth being preserved – or in short: things that _mattered_. During her travels or inside the library she had occasionally read those scholar’s names in the books and scrolls.

Vivienne’s name would never stand in any of those books.

Because despite her (probably) existent intelligence and her enormous privileges, the woman wasted her potential on superficial nonsense, dress codes, small talk and the vain assumption of self-importance.

_Just look at her: She actually seems to think you are listening to a word she says! Pathetic._

For a brief moment, Morrigan’s smile broadened into a genuine one. She had just recalled the look on Madame Vivienne’s face when Celene had introduced them. Not nearly as shocked and scandalized as the members of the Imperial Court had been a few days earlier, but nevertheless speechless. 

Unfortunately, she had regained her voice in the weeks to come, leaving out no chance to utter her deep dissatisfaction with the Empress’ decision to add a new advisor.

“...besides that, I heard the strangest rumor, dear. Word has it that a young servant who was minding his own business in the mere proximity of your little laboratory in the depths of the Palace was befallen by quite a little...fit.” Vivienne continued.

_Oh, so_ this _is what you really wanted to talk about..._

Morrigan suppressed a laugh. Yes, indeed. A ‘young servant minding his own business’, coincidentally near her place – a _very_ likely story!

“I hear he also suffered some burns,” Morrigan added, “He must have somehow stumbled too close to a brazier when his delusions befell him. ‘tis tragic, is it not? Such clumsiness.”

She had done well to take some measures in order to protect the laboratory from curious eyes. In the past weeks there had been quite a few of those already.

_And judging from the look on Madame de Fer’s face, I do have an idea who might have send this one..._

Morrigan sighed inwardly. Until word had finally gotten around that there was no way in there – or better: that what was inside was not worth the risk – she would have to wait before she could safely work on the Eluvian. At the moment, there was still too much attention on her.

Vivienne nodded slowly. “Yes, indeed. Clumsiness. Just like all the others...”

“Yes, one could almost assume that _someone_ has difficulties finding reliable personnel. Is that not so, Lady Vivienne?” Once more their gazes locked – an exercise Morrigan was getting increasingly tired of.

“Well, it is just worrisome, don’t you think? I mean, what could potentially happen if Her Radiance herself would want to visit you down there? Or me? Would _we_ suffer little ‘accidents’ as well, Lady Morrigan?”

“I am quite certain the Empress would be fine – and polite enough to announce her coming. And as far as you are concerned, Vivienne – I do not see any problem there either.”

“You do not?”

A hint of surprise. Good.

“No, after all, the Empress is not exactly in a shortage of arcane advisors.” Morrigan said drily. “You would be duly missed, though. Probably.”

Vivienne gave a little laugh, obviously fake.

“Will that be all?” asked Morrigan, a challenge hanging in the air.

“My, my, you are...amusing, Lady Morrigan. Who would have expected a sense of humor from a Fereldan witch?”

_Yes_ , Morrigan thought gloomily, eyeing Vivienne. _Humor_. _Just keep thinking that._

“However, I shall leave you to your...,” Vivienne gave a frown, “...’business’ for now. We shall meet again at the soirée. And try not to fall over that dress, dear. Again. Those can be tricky and dangerous if one is not used to them.”

She left her eyes on Morrigan for a few more moments, just letting the words sink in. As soon as she seemed reasonably sure that Morrigan had understood the not-so-subtle hint, she turned away and left, her high-heeled shoes making annoying echoing voices on the marble floor that could be heard for, well, miles probably.

_‘Tricky and dangerous if not used to them’._

She despised the thought of agreeing with Vivienne in any context, but the woman was right, of course. In the past weeks, Morrigan had produced various little trinkets for Celene and was reasonably sure that the Empress already saw the benefit in having her here. It was a start – and it allowed her for a few little exceptions already, like Celene letting the whole mask-business go. If she played her cards right, she’d have the Empress as much under control as was necessary to work on her own.

But the rest of the court was another matter – at least for now. She could deal with the curiosity of some minor nobles, of course, but she had to keep her eyes open on others.

_‘Tricky and dangerous if not used to them’._

Just like Vivienne. And that one would most likely not be the only force to be reckoned with in this place.

_The Imperial Court is a nest of vipers._

...and the next one was just waiting around the corner.

“Becoming friends with Lady Vivienne already, I see.”

Morrigan didn’t even bother turning around. She knew that voice – and in the past weeks she had gotten used to it suddenly making itself heard from behind her.

“Yes, Briala,” she said sarcastically, “’tis hard to resist her charm, is it not?”

The Empress’ spymaster appeared behind a pillar; undoubtedly having waited for the exact moment Vivienne was out of earshot. 

_...and undoubtedly listening in on every word that has been said._

“She is right about the dress, though,” Briala simply stated. It was hard to determine whether that was meant as a joke or not.

Morrigan snorted sullenly, not honouring this with an answer.

Briala gave a dry smile and continued: “Just give me a quick signal if you and her ever come to blows – so that I can get Her Radiance out of the line of fire fast enough.”

“I shall consider that.”

_Although I was close enough to that more than once already._

No need to tell her that, though. In fact, Morrigan didn’t really want to tell her anything right now. And least of all she wanted to talk about Vivienne anymore.

But since Briala was here anyway, there was something else...

“Say, do you have any new tidings from...”

Even though no one else was around, Morrigan didn’t want to take any chances at all. Briala knew whom she was talking about anyway.

“There’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

“So she is still being questioned?”

That would be odd now, wouldn’t it? It had been weeks, after all. Were they really that slow?

“No,” Briala shook her head, “According to my sources at the Grand Cathedral there _is_ no Alexiane there at all. No Tranquil, no execution of late. Just nothing.”

_Well, at least she said ‘Alexiane’ – so we are unwatched._

Morrigan frowned. “So, she just...vanished?”

There was a hint of dissatisfaction in her voice that she did not even care to cover up.

_They made her disappear?_ Leliana _made her disappear?_

“I have no idea.” Briala shrugged, mild irritation in her tone. ”Look, Lady Morrigan: I have some really good sources at the Grand Cathedral. If they say there is no Alexiane, then there is none.”

_Yes...and I have_ one _source at the Cathedral who will make sure that yours will only hear what they are supposed to hear._

The troubling thing was: she did not take much comfort in that thought. Yes, she could ask Leliana the next time they met. But would she get a clear answer at all?

_From the woman who complimented me on the shoes? Probably. But from the other one?_

“Why do you want to know anyway?” Briala’s question kept her thoughts from leading her further astray.

“Because if she is made Tranquil, I would like to see her some day.”

Briala blinked, obviously surprised by the answer. And not too happy about it. “Is that...wise?”

_Wise? I do not know. Something I need to do? Yes._

Morrigan remained silent. Not a smart move.

“Look, I am not doing this for you or our of good will, Lady Morrigan. If it weren’t for Her Radiance I wouldn’t even have inquired at all...”

_Yes, you were very clear about that._

“...but if you tell me that I did it, just so that you can go there and gloat...”

Morrigan couldn’t suppress a derisive grunt there. What was that woman thinking of her? “Do not take me for a fool, girl,” she said sharply. ”I have no intention to gloat.”

“Then _why_ would you want to see her at all?”

_Why? Because I knew her before – and I need to see her after. I need to see what they take from her. I need her as..._

“As a reminder.” Morrigan stated. “A reminder of what they do.”

Silence. For a moment, Briala just stared at her. Not confused or irritated. No, something else...

“I understand,” she said.

And for a brief moment Morrigan wondered if she actually did. It might not be a sign on the forehead, but Morrigan presumed that Briala nevertheless knew how it was to be branded. The woman might be the Empress’ spymaster, a woman of power and influence who could make enemies disappear and shift the balance of the whole Empire in Celene’s favour. For all Morrigan knew, she might have never even been _near_ an alienage. And yet that was exactly where she’d belong in the eyes of many.

_Yes, in a way you may understand. But this is not what I mean._

Almost as if she wanted to underline that, Briala continued in a much softer voice: “You know that the templars will never dare to move against you now, right? You are part of the Imperial Court. You are untouchable to them”

“I know,” Morrigan simply said.

_And you know nothing._

Morrigan was not afraid of templars or Seekers.

_I don’t fear what the Chantry might do to me...’tis what it does with_ her _that terrifies me._

The templars might enforce changes on mages with the Rite of Tranquility. But the Chantry itself had more subtle ways to change people who came on their free will – like the woman she loved.

Memories of Leliana’s words in the small chantry that night kept coming back at her.

_‘Justinia tries to make it all better, but in order to get there_ we _have to make...compromises’_

_‘..._ we _can’t oppose the Seekers on every occasion’_

_‘It is my duty, Morrigan.’_

She had heard words like these before. They could mean nothing – or everything. There was a thin line between religion and ideology...and an even thinner one between an ideology and an agenda. Those who did not tread carefully might cross the lines without even noticing.

And compared with most people, Leliana’s dedication to a cause was sometimes much more _absolute_.

_I have to keep a close eye on her. Maybe ‘tis not too late yet._

Still Morrigan could not shake that feeling that sooner or later she would need to have a serious chat with that other woman in Leliana’s life.

And she had the distinct feeling that neither of them was going to enjoy that.


End file.
